


Of hopes and broken dreams

by StormXPadme



Series: Tales Untold [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Animal Death, Arguing, Attempted Sexual Assault, Birthday, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Cutting, Depression, Dogs, Dreams, F/M, Fights, Fire, Harm to Children, Healers, Horses, Houses of Healing, Interrogation, Ithilien, Kidnapping, Letters, Mearas, Medical Procedures, Minas Tirith, Minor Character Death, Rebels, Riots, Sailing To Valinor, Separations, Serious Injuries, Speeches, Suicidal Thoughts, Third Age, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Violence, Weddings, based on movies and books except for the Hobbit movies, nothing happening though, referenced miscarriage, the epic tale of Aragorn being done with the whole family Oropherion's shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: Just a few days after Aragorn's coronation, enemies of the new crown threaten the returned King and the peace among the Free Folks of Middle-earth ...
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf, Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Arwen Undómiel & Legolas Greenleaf, Arwen Undómiel & Éowyn, Erestor & Original Female Elf Character(s), Faramir (Son of Denethor II) & Gandalf | Mithrandir, Gimli & Original Female Elf Character(s), Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Elf Character(s), Sam Gamgee & Original Female Elf Character(s), Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Series: Tales Untold [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559689
Comments: 57
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cover: http://racoonicorn.myartsonline.com/ohabd.jpg
> 
> This is a translation of part #6 of one of my longest finished German fanfiction series (https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/461a741b0000161f06700fa0/1/Tales-Untold-OF-HOPES-AND-BROKEN-DREAMS-6-). I am not a native speaker and apologize for any mistakes. The "Tales Untold"-series focuses much on Aragorn, Legolas and their respective relationships, but there's lots of other important plot lines coming into play, one of the biggest revolving around Glorfindel and Erestor.
> 
> The series combines the book verse with some circumstances from the movieverse, it ignores all of three of the Hobbit movies though (I wrote most of this series before those movies even were a thing). It's slightly non-compliant in places but I'm always trying to keep close to canon.
> 
> "Of hopes and broken dreams" is set a few weeks after the War of the Ring.
> 
> Comments are more than welcome. I'm thirsting for them like so many others.
> 
> WHAT HAPPENED SO FAR:  
> Legolas has loved a young healer elf from Lórien named Tarisilya for a thousand years. For political reasons, the relationship was a secret until the War of the Ring. After the Battle of the Black Gate, at Cair Andros, Aragorn healed both Tarisilya from almost withering away and Arwen from a bad injury that has likely left her infertile. Aragorn and she together with Legolas and Tarisilya traveled to Imladris where Arwen's family tried to further heal her. Legolas and Tarisilya got married in Imladris, and Tarisilya became pregnant. On the ride back, the group got involved in a fight of the Rohirrim against orcs and Uruk-hai that resulted in Tarisilya losing the baby. Upon his return to Minas Tirith, Aragorn learned that in his absence, a group of enemies named Stewardaides had formed who rather want to see Faramir rule Gondor.
> 
> Erestor and Glorfindel meanwhile have been trying for a while now to deal with the realization that there's far more than physical attraction between them. After the war, Erestor was meant to join Glorfindel in Imladris' army for their last years on Middle-earth, but upon learning about the Stewardaides, Elrond asked Erestor to come to Minas Tirith with him and help Aragorn solve this crisis.

_**I**_ t started to feel like it was Arwen's fate to constantly be confronted with brides who looked as if their own funeral was upon them.

In Imladris back then, she'd already had to convince Tarisilya first that the day of her friend's wedding with Legolas was not a time for old grief and worries about the future. When shortly after their return to Minas Tirith, Faramir's betrothed showed up at the court lady chambers that had been assigned to Arwen for now, to stand by her in her transition period, she was strikingly reminded of that morning in one of her father's guest houses.

Actually, it _was_ her father whom she'd expected to come to see her since a servant had surprisingly reported Elrond's presence in the city to her a few minutes ago. But apparently, he was still too busy with whatever had caused him to follow Aragorn and Arwen to Gondor so rashly instead of traveling here for Aragorn's upcoming coronation on short notice.

Instead, there was a tall Rohiril with endless light blonde hair and storm blue, round, childlike eyes standing in front of her, a woman considered to be a pearl among her folk without a doubt, only she didn't show it much. Her simply cut dress seemed unenthusiastic, her skin pale and blotchy. And she was most notably much too thin as if she didn't have much appetite for food.

Sure, Éowyn had suffered bad injuries fighting on the Pelennor Fields in the War of the Ring, together with so many of her people, and Arwen had learned from Aragorn that her recovery in the Houses of Healing had been very lengthy and exhausting. But that didn't seem to be all. Éowyn's shoulders seemed hunched, as if she had personally reconstructed Minas Tirith in the last weeks, all by herself, while Aragorn and Arwen had gone on their long journey to the west. Her absent-minded expression didn't allow for much warmth.

And her face only seemed to darken when she could look at Arwen from up close for the first time. She doubtfully looked Arwen's haggard, leather traveling clothes over that were clearly revealing that since returning from that journey, Arwen had hardly had time yet to get settled. "Greetings. It does look a little like my betrothed sent me here for a reason."

"Greetings, Lady Éowyn." Arwen hurried to show the implied bow towards other nobles that her status as the daughter of one of the oldest elvish realm leaders demanded, trying to ignore the little dig. She didn't know Éowyn at all yet and had a hard time judging how the woman meant her words. "I'll hardly be able to make it up to you that you're taking time for me so shortly before your wedding. I'm sure you have a lot to do. Thank you very much."

"It brings a little more fuss, yes, but I am honored. The woman by the King's side shall want for nothing." Éowyn didn't go into that any further though. "Would you please allow me to look at your wardrobe for a moment? The court of Gondor is happy to cover the expenses of its residents always dressing according to etiquette. For that, they need to know in the tailoring shop what needs to be done though."

"There's not much to see. Most of my belongings from my old home in Imladris will only arrive here by carriage in a few days."

Reacting to the subtle distance the other was radiating, Arwen stepped aside a bit, so Éowyn could reach the cabinet that Arwen had put the few pieces of clothing she'd brought in. Except for a couple of resilient dresses, tops, and two tight breeches, nothing much could be found there. That was all she had dragged back here from her trip to Imladris. Now that she was living at a court again though, even it was one of the Men's, she had to present herself properly; as a ruler's daughter, of course, she was being aware of that too.

"Yes, there are some basics missing here." Éowyn turned away with a sigh. "Is it possible for you to come with me for a moment? If proper dresses are supposed to be ready at the festivities, the tailors have to work quickly."

"Several dresses at once? Good thing there is some time left then. Your wedding won't be for another while, will it?" With a questioning glance, Arwen hurried after Éowyn who ran ahead through the halls purposefully.

"His Majesty Aragorn will be crowned King in a few days." That was all Arwen was told for the time being.

It was enough to blindside her already. Neither Aragorn nor she had expected this ceremony so quickly. That seemed to turn into just as overhasty a matter as Éowyn's wedding.

And Arwen knew that it would hurt her beloved very much that due to this rapid planning, one of his best friends would probably not be able to be there. On their way back here, Legolas and Tarisilya had decided to stay in Rohan for a while, after a terrible catastrophe had happened in the course of the Gap Assassination that Tarisilya would first have to recover from for a while.

Arwen was very interested in what had caused this development, given her companion's quietness though, she refrained from asking. She preferred to stay silent as well until they arrived at an outbuilding in the ring around the Citadel and Éowyn pointed through the door with a slight nod.

The master-tailor, a slightly elderly man, greeted them both with a deep bow. "Lady Éowyn, I am happy to see you. Do you want to see the progress of your wedding dress?"

"Oh no, I trust your abilities completely. It's about this she-elf. As you probably already know, Lady Arwen will live at the court from now on, and by the King's side as his wife in the foreseeable future. However, her belongings are still on their way here. So we need replacements to make it through the next few days. Our ruler's future wife shouldn't be seen like this in the Citadel."

Éowyn regarded Arwen with an apologetic shrug, but she put her of.

Though she could have easily spoken for herself and found Éowyn's mild gruffness a little disconcerting … It hadn't been easy for the young woman recently. And as a representative of her people in a foreign country, she was surely being exposed to a lot of pressure, a situation that Arwen could relate to well. The two of them would have much to do with each other in the future. They should try to not let any hostility arise from the start already. Once the biggest stress of the upcoming events had subsided, there would still be enough time to become friends.

Trying to be understanding became harder by the second though, given how the other was behaving right now.

"Just like the rest of the royal household, Lady Arwen will be present at the coronation of course; for that, she definitely needs a fitting dress. And I'm not entirely sure how proper the fashion of Rivendell might turn out to be for these lands. You might have a little more work to do in the next few months."

Fortunately, Arwen didn't even have to make an argument to defend her kin; the tailor beat her to that. "No need to worry about that, Lady Éowyn. From all I've seen of the elves' elegance and their love for aesthetics, I'm sure, our future Queen will surprise us all in the best way."

The tailor returned Arwen's heartfelt smile, then eyed her discreetly from head to toe and guided her to the middle of the room, to a small footstool, with an inviting gesture. "An extremely beautiful vision indeed, like every elf I was blessed to lay eyes on so far. Our new King once more proves his good instincts. Come on now. We _do_ have to make a little haste."

He took a measuring tape from one of the many dressers lining the walls and started to pull Arwen into one position after the other, gently but without asking even once, unmindful of her embarrassed expression. In Imladris, such measuring had always been conducted by she-elves; accordingly, this quickly made her feel uncomfortable.

"Please stand straight. Lady Arwen. I do have to know your body, or your dress won't fit right. I can't work by eye alone."

"You could just tell me how to move, you know." Still disapproving, Arwen wanted to add something in annoyance, but she was being cut off.

"I said, stand straight. And please hold your breath for a moment, or you'll muddle the results." The tailor blew one the quite messy, grey curls falling down his forehead out of the way and scribbled eagerly on a small parchment before wrapping the tape around her body once more.

Seeking help, Arwen threw Éowyn a glance, who was restlessly pacing through the workshop though, her thoughts visibly already being anywhere but here once again.

"I'm afraid, you'll have to go through that regularly soon. If I may give you another advice, Lady Arwen: Better stop wearing breeches like this once the dresses are finished. For a Lady of Gondor, it is not proper to be run around in those in everyday life. I would also be happy to show you how women usually tie up their hair in this realm. But we'll take care of all of that one by one in the next few days one, don't worry. You'll also surely be provided with a personal handmaid soon who'll help you with everything daily."

She took some fabric from one of the long tables and held it up. "How about this one for the dress?"

"Yellow?" Arwen pulled a doubtful grimace.

At least now, the tailor came to her rescue again. "No, no, Lady Éowyn. She needs punchier colors. Her black hair will make them downright glow. With your blonde curls, of course, brighter nuances like this fit you far better."

The man took a look around at the chaotically cluttered tables himself and clicked his tongue gleefully. "That one back there." He pointed at something bright green and almost transparent and looked Arwen's hair over in affirmation once more. "With darker stitching on the seams, it will look truly marvelous."

"I really should start to trust your judgment unconditionally. Like much other handiwork that women are usually supposed to do, decorating has never been one of my strong suits."

With a self-ironic shrug, Éowyn folded the linen again, slightly sloppily, and stepped closer to Arwen. "Have you already learned how the coronation will go for you?"

"For me? I'm just a guest at the court for the moment, right?" Arwen wanted to shake her head in confusion, but again, a hoarse male voice hissed at her that she should please keep still.

"Unfortunately. That's the problem, yes. So far, in most people's heads, you only exist as a rumor, at most. So until the King officially asks for your hand in marriage, you have to keep your distance from him to avoid gossip. At the ceremony, talking, in general, is strictly forbidden to anyone present, no matter how close they are to our new ruler. The former court advisors have been very clear about that." Éowyn made a bit of a face. It was obvious, such patronization pleased her least herself.

"Afterwards, there'll be a splendid feast. There as well you should only talk to the King if he addresses you. and until then, we should work a little on your pronunciation, and on the phrases common in Gondor for conversation. Though Sindarin is broadly spoken in the royal circles of these lands: At such gatherings, common people, in particular, will expect you to perfectly know Westron, too."

Now Arwen was running out of patience. She didn't even have a doubt that Éowyn meant well, given how eager the woman was when she wasn't just busy daydreaming about her upcoming wedding. But it was obvious, the young Rohiril had had little to do with elves in her life in person so far. She probably didn't even realize how far off the mark her words were right now, how hurtful a few of her assumptions were.

" _I know the language of Men very well_ , _and I also know how to have a conversation_." Arduously composed, Arwen panted out her words, trying in vain to not flare up too much.

No, of course, she hadn't internalized the various Secondborn dialects as perfectly as Aragorn, for example, because in spite of her long lifetime, she had only rarely lived in realms of Men for too long at a stretch. But she was fluent enough in the most common tongues and had almost no accent. No matter how unconsciously it might happen, she really didn't have to put up with someone belittling her like that, someone being a stranger in this country herself no less.

Éowyn promptly blushed, apparently realizing what kind of affront she'd just done. "Please forgive me, Lady Arwen, I didn't suppose differently. I just wasn't sure … They told me, thanks to your courage and your combat strength, you'd mostly stayed in the soldier circles of your people. So I thought, customs in Gondor might be foreign to you so far. And the strict court etiquette is just very important, so people will honor the house and don't lose their faith in the line of Kings right away, that they've only just rediscovered." Embarrassed, Éowyn played with a strand of her hair.

"Well, at least _you_ don't seem to be a stranger to soldier manners. If you'd spent more private time with your warriors though, instead of sneaking into Rohan's armies without permission on the Pelennor Fields last minute, you might have a higher opinion of fighters." Arwen had definitely had enough.

Upset, she pushed the hand of the tailor aside who had just wanted to measure the length of her arm, meaning to step down from the footstool and hurry back to her chambers.

But the craftsman held up his hands in reassurance, both in her and in Éowyn's direction.

"Lady Éowyn, I'm sure you still have many things to prepare for your big day. I will arrange for Lady Arwen to be accompanied back to her chambers as soon as I'm done here. A wedding like yours requires a lot of effort, doesn't it?"

"At least there's _someone_ noticing that." Visibly relieved, the young woman nodded at the man and left the tailor shop with her head low, after muttering an abashed greeting to Arwen.

Arwen watched her leave angrily and then dropped onto the footstool.

With a lenient laugh, the tailor shook his head. " _Brides_. I assure you, she's usually not like that at all. Actually, she's become quite popular at the court thanks to her dedicated and caring heart. But since due to the wedding, she's surrounded by so many new servants, all of them asking something different from her, everyone else avoids her if they can. It will wear off. There's at least as many expectations weighing her down as they do on you. Come on, I'll make us some tea first, and we figure out how your dress and the rest of the things are supposed to look. Because as far as I'm concerned, I'm very much in favor of the fashion roots of your descent still shaping your appearance going forward. People will have an elvish Queen, don't be afraid to show them that. And afterward, I'll tell you what things are really like at this court. If court ladies come to you for fittings every day, sometimes you hear more than you even want to know."

Arwen felt still snubbed but the man's open smile revealed the honesty of his words, so she let him help her up. "It seems I will be in need of your impressions indeed. The helper originally assigned to me seems to become an involuntary obstacle instead."

Saddened, she looked out to the streets through one of the man-high windows. She'd not even been here for a full day, and there were already such big misunderstandings. She would have loved to talk to Aragorn or her father about this, but those two would have other worries right now than comforting her. While Arwen had suspected that it wouldn't be easy in the beginning, being a Firstborn alone among Men: That her first attempt had already ended with her running into a wall, gave her pause.

Since Arwen had now more or less charmingly been warned about being in Aragorn's immediate proximity too often right now, both by the Steward and his betrothed, and since she hadn't seen a trace either of him or of Elrond in the last few days, the last thing she had expected was someone knocking at her chamber doors on the morning before the coronation. The sun hadn't even really come up yet … and when she sleepily opened the door, a remarkably carelessly clothed future King was standing before her.

She took a quick look around the hall to see if anyone was nearby, sighing a breath of relief when she couldn't spot anyone. "I didn't even expect to see you today unless it was from 30 feet away. Do you want to come inside for a moment? Doorstep conversations are so uncomfortable."

"Too dangerous," he replied with a weak smile. "But I really wanted to come to see you before the whole turmoil starts, Arwen." The way he was looking at her threatened to break her heart for a moment, tried to take her breath away; that was how much sadness he radiated. After all the conversations with his future advisors in the last few days, had he maybe already made a decision regarding their relationship after all, that her current condition would make so difficult? What if he'd only come here to send her away?

Apparently her incomprehension, her budding fear was showing, because her beloved immediately grabbed her hand and pressed a tender kiss to it. It was alright. Nothing was different between them.

"I just don't know when we'll get a chance to be alone next, that's all." At a closer look, Arwen could see the restless worry in Aragorn's eyes. They kept moving around in a way they hadn't yet at their arrival. Whatever it was, it had probably kept him awake in the last few nights. Under his thick dark beard, his cheeks seemed a little hollowed. Occasionally, he let out a furtive yawn. "The next few days will be filled nonstop with things that won't allow any thought regarding myself. We will have to be a little patient before we can be there for each other again. I just want you to know …"

Falling silent, Aragorn raised his hand to Arwen's face and caressed her cheek, then leaned forward to kiss her tenderly, just for a few seconds, but it was enough to chase away this coldness of loneliness in her heart at least for the moment. This new time of waiting for each other, too, would pass, even though it was more frustrating than ever because they would even be living in the same place this time.

Before the grip of his hand on her waist could become dangerously firm or their kiss too deep, her beloved heavy-heartedly turned away and left Arwen standing there without a word of good-bye. Apparently, that wasn't anything more to say about this for now.

Or about the tears in Arwen's eyes that she had a hard time holding back. No matter how confused she felt, and even though she itched to run after Aragorn: She was pretty sure that one of the many things unbecoming for a lady of the court was to show up at a coronation tearstained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a side note: Éowyn doesn't exactly act too kind in this chapter, I know. I've been fretting over that for a while since I really don't like having bitchfights in a world like Tolkien's that sorely lacks female characters anyway. So without giving away too much, I just want to assure you that there are reasons - beyond Éowyn's control - behind everything that is happening here, and Éowyn's relationship with others, especially Arwen, will be a lot different towards the end of the series.
> 
> Also, I know I said that two chapters ago already, but I promise our favorite chaos elves aren't far off ;-). Like, literally, they're really close :D.


	2. Chapter 2

"It is time." Faramir tried to lure Aragorn out of his thoughtful stupor yet again.

By the looks of it, the whole city had shown up here at the dawn of the new day, a curious crowd bursting into chants and cries of joy over and over. A noise that annoyance was gradually mixing into though, because the sun was already high in the sky, and nothing was happening.

"Go. It's alright. I'll be right behind you."

Shaking his head Faramir did as he'd been told. Maybe the whole thing with the hurried ceremony hadn't been the best idea seeing as Aragorn suddenly seemed to be hesitating _again_. Faramir was starting to run out of patience himself.

"Is something wrong?" Éowyn asked, frowning when he came to join her in the ranks of honorary guests, at the very front of the crowd assembled opposite the Citadel's entrance that filled not only basically every free inch of the tapered courtyard but also all the rings, down to the city walls.

Faramir blocked out the people hailing him excitedly as well as he could; he didn't even wave at them because he had to worry that their hopes, things would get started now, was in vain once more.

"I hope not." He forced himself to smile. He used to pour out his worries in his betrothed's presence far too often and had had way too little time for her in their relationship so far that was still so fresh anyway. Even now, so shortly before their wedding. He took a conscious moment to whisper an admiring compliment to her.

She looked breathtaking in her golden yellow dress and a narrow, contoured headband serving as a symbol of the rank she was already occupying among the Men of the west. In spite of the bad mood that a few misguided enemies of Aragorn's regency had been trying to spread for some time now, enemies who also thought very little of Faramir's bond with a Rohiril … Faramir was very certain that people would quickly accept his wife by his side. Not only because of her natural beauty but mostly thanks to the legend of the fearless fighter that she had created for herself in the war, she was an idol for many men and women.

He on the other hand couldn't deny being relieved that instead of the festive garments of a Steward, he'd soon just have to slip on his Ranger clothes again, or the well-known silver armor of the Gondorian armies that he was also wearing over this dark, long robe right now; a reminder of the war that Aragorn had decided to go with today as well. In fact, Faramir might soon be done with a strictly regulated appearance for good, though he tried not to fool himself about Aragorn taking the offer that Faramir had been advised to make him as a formality. Either way, he'd had enough government business on his shoulders for the time being. In just a few weeks, Éowyn and he would finally be able to start the remote life in South Ithilien that they both longed for. The palace in Emyn Arnen had been waiting for them to move in for far too long already.

And then his betrothed – who would be his wife then, a thought that still sparked unbelieving joy every single time – would hopefully lose this frightening paleness, too. The possibility that too much stress might not be the only reason for her still not having completely recovered, he rigorously rejected, not for the first time since Aragorn's arrival. She had promised him and didn't want to talk about it anymore, he had to accept that. Even though it would always hurt his heart when the last rest of yearning for another life than one with him shone in Éowyn's eyes.

"People are getting restless. Men just have no patience," Gimli on Faramir's left muttered.

Leaning heavily on the ax that the Ring Companion rarely left his house without, he stared at the door behind which nothing seemed to stir still, as if he wanted to break it down. "Do I have to run into the tower personally and drag our friend out by the collar so no one becomes furious out here?"

"If you think you can make it past Gandalf, Master Dwarf, go ahead." Faramir grinned down at him.

Gimli's resolute efforts had been a huge support for him during Aragorn's absence, but work had left them less time for personal conversation than Faramir liked. Especially because he felt, something was weighing down on Gimli and he wanted to help. But when should he do that? "It's brave, by the way, as one of your kin, complaining about missing patience. It can't be more than a few minutes now."

"That would be pleasant indeed." Faramir hadn't noticed that Lord Elrond had stepped away from the big group of elves who were standing far in the background, silently, as was their way. The disapproving expression on his narrow lips matched the one on Gimli's knobbly face. The small knots he had tied some strands of his jet black hair into seemed slightly messy, thanks to gestures of growing restlessness that a Firstborn actually seldom showed. "Given the threat looming over Minas Tirith, every delay leads just fuels further conflict."

Faramir forced himself to count to ten in Sindarin and Westron before an inappropriate remark could escape his lips. "I did what I could. What goes for our Dwarf Lord here goes for you, too: Try your luck with your foster son if you think you can do better."

"Faramir." Éowyn took his hand admonishingly. "We are all tense."

"Why have we been called here if there's nothing to see?" an annoyed voice from the crowd now shouted, too. "Is our precious ruler maybe still too exhausted from his journey to be there for his people?"

Faramir threw a sharp glance towards where the words had come from; due to the hustle, he couldn't make out whose it had been though.

Faceless like that, the King's enemies felt safe enough to spew their poison. Not even counter-arguments from the royal household and Aragorn's friends could quiet some disapproving murmurs coming from other sides.

Just when Faramir was close to raising his own voice, a fanfare entirely new to him suddenly sounded from the city walls. Aragorn could only have commissioned it himself in the last few days. It was an unusually bright, high note, long-drawn-out like a fresh, warm breeze.

He didn't have any time left to think about it.

When peoples' eyes turned back toward the White Tower of Ecthelion in confusion, all anger was silenced at once.

Gandalf had appeared at the splendid entrance, apparently out of nowhere. One of his Hobbit Ring Companions, just as festively clad as every other visitor, was proudly holding his staff, keeping his due distance. Gimli immediately hurried there with an excited smile, in his hands a pillow with the magnificent broad crown of Gondor on it.

Gandalf's expression brightened noticeably, too, when Aragorn joined the three of them and cheers sounded anew.

So the endless indecision had finally come to an end after all.

Now all they could hope for was the rest of the day to proceed without interruptions.

It just didn't get any better, not even now when things finally got started.

Aragorn had trained his senses and especially his instincts for more than 80 years of his life. Long enough to know that you couldn't just ignore it when such a bad feeling haunted you since the prior evening already. When last he had done that, a she-elf that he called a good acquaintance had lost a baby, the unborn's father being one of his best friends. There was hardly a more painful lesson.

But when even after the umpteenth patrol of the Citadel guards, he was credibly assured that there wasn't trouble anywhere, he needed to give in, no matter how much his stomach was turning as he stepped out of the door.

It would have been entirely impossible now, spotting anything suspicious. There could probably have been an archer somewhere among the crowd, and Aragorn would only have noticed when an arrow had pierced his body. But how did you make a team of twelve advisors understand, most of whom you'd only known for a few days, that you wanted to delay your own coronation _again_ , because of a vague suspicion?

Added to that were the voices of Aragorn's closest friends and honorary guests against which he had to hold his ground right now, too. Someone like Éomer or Lord Elrond you only objected if you were longing for a three-hour discussion.

Now, Aragorn could only rely on the soldiers doing their job, including his personal guard, half of whom he didn't know anything about but their name yet either. The worry about the many men, dwarves, and elves in the courtyard, about the four hobbits, too, didn't allow any real joy to build in him, neither about all the applause nor when Mithrandir signaled him to kneel down.

His heart beating wildly, he turned his eyes to the white marble tiles at his feet when Mithrandir lowered slowly the heavy crown upon his head. He'd just seen too much in the war to think it impossible cruelty that his enemies had maybe waited for this exact moment ...

But nothing happened. Everything was as alright as could be, given all the difficulties waiting for him from now on. Only now, he could allow the same relief in that had overwhelmed him at his return to Minas Tirith. Gone, finally and forever, was the part of him that had retired into exile for decades to prepare for this day. The part that had sometimes doubted if he was strong enough to bear this destiny. At this moment, this part of him died, together with the chance to leave the government his realm to someone else who was maybe more suited for it.

Anger on the people who were demanding just that from him and whose invisible presence managed to cast a cloud even over this day quickly filled this little gap inside his soul and had him get up with new energy. His folk deserved a King who focused his mind on the present. And this man was finally standing before them now, with the last obligatory symbols that had still been missing.

The reign of Elessar had dawned, and the solemn song he struck up for the people, was an announcement just as much as a threat towards certain rebels who were hopefully listening somewhere down there.

_out of the Great sea_

_to Middle-earth I am come_

_in this place I will abide_

_and my heirs_

_unto the ending of the world_

Just a few simple words in his elvish mother tongue that still echoed in his head for long seconds when he braced himself for his first speech as a King with another deep breath.

But before he could even raise his voice, Faramir approached him, as the first person to bow to him.

"Your Majesty … Now that the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor is under its King's lawful leadership, the further fate of the Steward house is in your hands as well. With my full trust in you, I, therefore, put the decision regarding my stay in an office that nothing but fate has demanded in the war, in your hands." Accompanied by the peoples' surprised murmurs, Faramir went down on one knee and handed his cloak to Aragorn.

Aragorn looked him over for a silent, breathless moment, with an almost invisible shake of his head.

It wouldn't have been any less surprising but at least easier if Faramir hadn't signaled him that maybe he wouldn't even have minded if Aragorn's decision would differ from the one he could only make. While after Denethor's death, Faramir had indeed been pushed into this role that had always been meant for Boromir, he had never made an attempt to escape this responsibility. Only the threat of the King's enemies who had made him their involuntary crowd-puller seemed to tempt him to cop out now. Something in Faramir had just always remained a simple Ranger. And, unlike with Aragorn, for him, it would maybe always be the dominant part.

Out of friendship alone, Aragorn would have loved to help him, but especially considering the rebels, it was way too high a risk to transfer the Steward office to a new person. Gondor needed an established leadership, especially if something might possibly happen to Aragorn before he would have an heir.

"Rise." He tried to fill his voice with all the encouragement, he wanted to make Faramir feel when he put his cloak around him again. "Your family protected this land far too well for me to be able to let you go. Your long fight at Gondor's borders alone proved your dedication. Besides, you know the lands of North and South Ithilien like no other. Not only as Steward to the King of Gondor but also as the Prince of Ithilien, you and your heirs shall guard this country in the future, protect this city from all sides, and stand by me as one of my closest advisors. Speak to your people, Steward."

Something in Aragorn's soul tightened when he noticed the shadow in Faramir's pale eyes.

But the young man immediately turned to the delighted men. "It is with pride then that I do finally accept this assignment officially today. I assure the residents of Gondor unlimited loyalty, commitment, and safety, as far as it is in my power. It is now time though for our ruler to speak to us all." Without another glance at Aragorn, he went back to his spot next to Éowyn.

The new King might be able to hide his inner unrest from the others, but not from someone who knew him as well as his beloved. Now Arwen was glad that she had given up her spot next to a couple of court ladies a few minutes ago already to join her kin, ignoring Éowyn's questioning frown, with the slightly dubious excuse of wanting to act as a standard-bearer. Not only could she saw Aragorn a lot better from here and estimate if he needed her support … Arwen soon wouldn't be able to spend time with her family and her old friends anymore. Now that her father had finally managed to escape his obligations from the last few days, she didn't want to miss that opportunity.

Besides, her eyes that were still quite sharp, in spite of her body reacting more and more like a woman's recently, had - entirely unexpectedly - spotted a certain face in the crow, basically seconds after the official festivities had started. The face of someone she'd not dared to hope to see here today. So that was what that fanfare had been about. The quick ride here to make it in time surely hadn't been an easy decision and had doubtlessly been exhausting enough.

Tarisilya had probably stayed in the neighboring realm. So shortly after the toll that the miscarriage had taken not only on her body, Legolas surely hadn't wanted to ask this trip of her.

It was plain to see though that he was feeling anything but well himself. His face was almost transparently whitish under his simple silver circlet. Foreign his appearance with that long, silver-shimmering robe of a kind that Arwen hadn't seen him wear for many long centuries before his wedding. There hadn't been any time to exchange even one word so far, but Arwen had gratefully rested a hand on his shoulder when she had come to stand next to him and Elrond, and at least her smile had been returned, albeit very absently.

Here, Arwen didn't feel half as misplaced. The Gondorian style was very different indeed, with muted colors, heavy fabrics, with the women's hair being neatly tied up. Arwen couldn't tell yet how smart it really was to stray from that completely. She wanted to talk about that to Aragorn in private first. For now, she rather hid behind the other elves a little, making sure though to fixate Aragorn nonstop. Something serious was bothering him, she was very certain.

Most of the speech, Arwen didn't even consciously catch. What Aragorn would tell people had already been clear anyway before their departure back then. Only that light tremble in his voice was new. She doubted that many noticed. Aragorn's tall, upright appearance radiated too much unshakableness, not least thanks to his armor. The weight of his crown had only made him grow. In the shape of his upcoming, purpose-driven plans, he expressed his sense of responsibility for the land and his love to its inhabitants so well that he was noticeably moving people's hearts to the core.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Arwen thought to see a smile on his lips meant only for her.

All the more Arwen startled at Aragorn's suddenly changing tone. His posture seemed a lot more withdrawn now, his shoulders were tight in a gesture of aggression. She had been right.

"And yet hate coming from a few of your ranks has been able to mar this time of joy of all days."

While in spite of every ban on talking, excited whispers had filled the court so far, suddenly it became eerily silent.

Which turned Aragorn's voice into a roar penetrating every last corner of the Citadel. "A few have used my absence to spread insincere writings regarding my reign that are supposed to get you, sons and daughters of Gondor, on their side. Those critics despise me for being a Dúnadan of the North – why? Don't you know your own roots? Are you rejecting your own Steward's origins, the clothes, Prince Faramir has been wearing all his life?" His sharp gesture towards his substitute had some of the few people who'd sported a discontent expression earlier, duck their heads.

But Aragorn wasn't done yet. "And that disgusting defamation of Firstborn? Shameless lies about an absurd danger from Rohan? None of that will be allowed in Gondor. Without the elven realms' support, the Fellowship of the Ring would never have succeeded. And did you forget who led his men into battle for _your_ safety and the existence of _our_ country, aware of his certain death and the possible demise of his own realm? Who of you dares to talk badly about King Théoden and many courageous soldiers who gave their lives for them?"

Glancing around, Arwen's eyes instinctively found those of the new ruler of the said realm, who had been serenely waiting amidst the honorary guests with his people so far. At the reminder of the loss he'd suffered so recently though, he quickly tried to hide his pained expression behind his hair.

Many people of Gondor might not even be recognizing Éomer, given he was without a crown that Rohan's Kings wore rather seldom. A heavy cloak wrapped around the typical red and silver armor did the rest to disguise both Éomer's immensely strong shape and how his badly injured right arm hung motionlessly down after his recent kidnapping. Especially in this moment of returning grief, he was surely being fine with missing attention.

Fortunately, Aragorn spared his fellow realm leader more elaboration of that kind. For seconds, he had to noticeably recollect himself, because, in his growing wrath, his voice had almost cracked. Energy, honest resentfulness, determination, that was what was needed here right now. Not blind anger towards men who were surely still very vulnerable, weakened in body and spirit after a long time of suffering, and in this condition might accidentally succumb to false promises.

"Do these rebels really think me afraid of some filthy parchment? No one who rode to this country's last battle or lost a beloved relative in this war will listen to such scribblings! I trust every single one of you, for I know the resilient hearts beating in your chest. Don't destroy the hope that we have built together on these fields and at the Black Gate! The _gallantry_ these people think they have while hanging about like thieves and lowlife in the darkness of the streets? Let them say their opinions to my face, so I can prove to them and to every citizen of this city the strength lying hidden in the new line of Kings that has already stared into the Dark Eye!"

With the same fluid, swift movement as in battle, Aragorn drew Andúril from its sheath and held it before him in a way that seemed to set it on fire when the sunlight was refracted in the polished metal. "Since Narsil has been reforged by the hands of the elves that these people despise so much, I've been using it against the Gondor's enemies. And I will also raise it against those who threaten our realm anytime, be it a danger from the outside or the inside! _I'm counting on all of you_ , _children of Gondor_! _You are the future of this country_! _Help me lead this land into the golden future that every single one of you deserves_!"

Frenetic sounds of approval filled the yard when Aragorn raised his sword once more. The King had his folk on his side, there was no doubt about that. After the first shock about this part of the speech, that was all the more soothing.

Now that Arwen was finally in the loop about these problems, she even thought to understand Éowyn's moodiness a little better. Aragorn's gloomy revelations had given her a short scare, too.

But in these minutes, the King had proven his strength. Nothing could threaten this his leadership so easily.

Now that the white petals that numerous baskets had been prepared of for the end of this part of the ceremony, were allowed to soar in the wind, their tantalizing scent of drowned the worries from the journey and about Arwen's own condition at least for a few happy, long minutes.

Seeing her proud smile mirrored on her father's lips made the moment perfect. The two of them had walked different but similarly stony roads to get to this day, and even though, in some way, Aragorn would always stand between them, their love for this man was equally big. For a secret second of nearness, Arwen nuzzled her head against Elrond's shoulder and let the loving kiss to her temple chase away the ups and downs of the last few days.

After all the advice she'd been given about how to behave today, Arwen actually hadn't even planned to leave the spot among her family anytime soon. But when in the course of doing his first round, Aragorn thanked Legolas for his support, with a sad smile given recent events, it was her father of all people who sent her forward in a prompting whisper.

Seeing her, Aragorn dropped that thin façade of reason and distance quickly that he'd still tried to keep up even for her a few hours earlier. He pulled her in his arms without compromise to kiss her in front of everyone, passionately, every respect for the etiquette forgotten for a moment.

Well, so much for her place not being officially by his side yet. With the beginning of this regency, one or two court rules would apparently change a little.

Without resistance, Arwen let Aragorn take her with him on the rest of the way. With their arms linked, she enjoyed the undimmed sunlight on her skin just as much as the looks of the countless people around her that were much friendlier now.

When it was time, she immediately joined Aragorn's kneeling reverence towards the four completely stunned hobbits, a gesture that everyone else present followed right away, without an order being necessary.

These four deserved this more than anyone else who had fought in this battle. Every single of these so innocent, inexperienced beings had more fortitude than these primitives who were trying to rattle at Aragorn's power.

In spite of everything bad that had happened, they were all still here to witness this day of light and of a new beginning, not least because of the halflings.

The war was over at last.

The formal part of the ceremony took some more time, thanks to the appointment of many servants like the personal guard and the team of advisors alone that Aragorn was now officially turning into the Council of Gondor again, following its members' own proposition.

Some of the same men being on that council had already provided good service to Denethor back then and stood by Faramir's side in the last months as well. They were a little talkative for Aragorn's taste, but competent. He himself probably wouldn't get much of a chance to speak in the next few weeks.

That celebration later was the last chance to sit together with a few friends comparatively casually once more. And the more it approached, the more often, in these slightly tenacious minutes, Aragorn wondered where actually a certain elf had vanished to again whose appearance had blindsided him so positively. He almost had to wonder if he'd just seen a ghost earlier because he didn't find the missing face anymore glancing across the crowd.

Legolas was probably been in a hurry to get back to his wife who would still need much support. If she'd come with him to Gondor at all, she surely hadn't wanted to expose herself to the hustle in the Citadel but was probably waiting in some remote place.

And if she was, Aragorn urgently wanted to look after his two friends for a bit before the reception. So he sighed a silent breath of relief when the spectators left the courtyard one by one. The rest of the day should proceed in a comparatively calm manner ...

Screams that were quickly filled with panic, and warning shouts, coming from the direction of the gate to the sixth city level, crushed this hope in an instant.

Almost at the same moment, Aragorn saw thick clouds of smoke rise from the walls, from where the stables of Minas Tirith were located many feet below. His heart skipped a beat. So he had not been mistaken after all.

His enemies apparently weren't just fanatic but damn smart too, unfortunately. They had not risked endangering people directly, thereby bringing their resentment upon themselves. Instead, they had chosen a target for an attack, the loss of which would be just as painful for Aragorn. The whole thing should probably make it look like he couldn't even properly take care of his immediate surroundings.

And apparently, they weren't entirely wrong about that. But he could drown in those self-doubts later.

" _Soldiers_!" Aragorn signaled the captain of his personal guard to follow him with his group, ignoring the upset questions from all sides and pushed his way through the remaining people as fast as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

In spite of all efforts, Arwen didn't make it to catch up with Aragorn again. Due to sudden chaos and given that her status at the court was not being traditionally legalized yet, the soldiers were obviously forgetting again already that actually, she would have belonged by the side of the freshly crowned King, especially in times of crisis.

And Aragorn himself probably hoped that she would remain in the protection of her kin's representatives for rational reasons. Even after all this time, he apparently still didn't know her well enough.

Arwen had never let overly worried family stop her when she had known beloved beings to be in danger. And right now, the horse was that her father had given to her at her departure from Imladris, to accompany her in her new life in Gondor. A very young, playful stallion that she had become very fond of on the journey and without whom she would not have survived the battle against those Uruk-hai at the Gap. Without large silhouettes in armor surrounding her, she just had to try to find her way to the stables herself. Her dress skirt made it harder to proceed though since several persons stepped on the fabric; more than once, Arwen almost tripped. The high-heeled shoes just made it worse.

Thanks to the jam, she earned a few painful jabs in her side that she ignored with gritted teeth. Her eyes were sternly fixed on the growing billows of smoke. One could already notice the smell of charcoaled wood and burning straw from here. Not only Alagas, but Brego was also down there … She couldn't let anything happen to them …

At least there was the sound of panicking horses quickly departing reaching her ear now. So a few of them had managed to flee. From the distance, Arwen could also see that only a comparatively small part of the building complex had been torched, but with old, ramshackle material, that could easily suffice to destroy everything. And the source of the fire was located right inside the spacious wing that the animals of the King and the royal household had been placed in. The gate on the one side was firmly locked, the way to the other barred by flames. The animals in there were still trapped, and surely not accidentally.

Arwen's anger towards Aragorn's ominous enemies – and who else should be responsible for this? – was only growing when two very well-known voices revealed that it was indeed only Brego and Alagas left in the stable. The other horses seemed to be either on the paddocks or had been freed. The soldiers would have quite a hard time capturing the animals, but she couldn't care about that right now.

Pushing the last bystanders out of the way, she ran towards the fire.

Aragorn who was already there just quickly made certain that Faramir would arrange everything necessary for the fire to be put out and followed her then. He tried to hold her back by her arm in vain, remarking that unlike him, she wasn't wearing any protective clothing. Which, while correct, was completely irrelevant right now. Arwen just tore away from him, so he had no choice but to run after her.

When they approached a side entrance that was usually always locked, they realized that it had apparently been forced open with raw violence to ensure an additional exit route. Wondering who of the people had been so valiant, Arwen stopped abruptly, because the person coming her way was the last she'd expected at this moment. In spite of his hair having been preventively, firmly tied back, the hood of a coat – probably borrowed from some groom in a hurry – being pulled low over his face, and his similarly protective hunched posture, she recognized Legolas immediately.

"How did _you_ get here?" Aragorn paused in confusion as well.

A suppressed cough was all he got for an answer, but the question became completely unimportant anyway when they spotted the silhouette of a child under Legolas' cloak.

"Any more people left in there?" His eyes wide with fright, Aragorn stopped Legolas by grabbing his shoulder before he could hurry past him.

Again, the answer was a silent one, a jerky shake of Legolas' head, accompanied by further coughing. Legolas managed to get as far as to the group of people a few feet from the building before the effects of the smoke and of a few light burns on arms and legs forced him to his knees.

The bystanders were taking care of him and especially the child, as a quick look back over her shoulder told Arwen. Someone had already sent for healers anyway. This, they had to help with later. For now, they needed to find a way to free the horses without being taken out just as quickly as Legolas. The soldiers were already busy breaking through the front gate, but that would take time.

Driven by a heartbreaking neigh from inside the stable, Arwen overcame her last hesitation. They _had_ to act. It wouldn't take long now before the roof would collapse. Aragorn tried to grab her once more, but she just dashed off, without thinking about it, some curses quite indecent for a King following her.

Getting inside turned out to be surprisingly easy, but upon reaching the aisle between the stalls, Arwen found herself between ever-growing heat and beams cracking so loudly, it threatened to rob her of her hearing. The dark smoke of straw probably soaked in water on purpose didn't allow for much vision and irritated the lungs so much that Arwen had to cough badly. Sparks from falling splinters smoldered on her dress. Hectically slapping them out, she tried to get to Brego's and Alagas' stalls, following the blurred shapes of the rearing animals.

Another shadow breaking through the orange glow came up next to her. She needed a moment to recognize Aragorn. Like Legolas had earlier, he had wrapped himself in a cloak that he somehow must have wetted before. A second piece that he'd brought, he put around Arwen's body, still scolding her.

A loud noise had them both startle.

Brego had somehow managed to open his stall and half push the door open, half smash it, the same trick he usually was annoying the grooms with and that probably saved his life today. His natural fear of the dangerous element wanted to chase him outside immediately. When he spotted Aragorn and Arwen though, he flinched in panic as he couldn't identify them right away.

This time, they started to run at the same time, with Arwen being headed for the stall that she could still hear Alagas neighing in, highly frightened.

Aragorn on the other hand was shouting quiet, soothing words in Sindarin to his horse, the way they both had already learned it as adolescents from Elrond for situations like this.

It helped now, too. Though the animal was still completely distraught, it allowed Aragorn to grab its halter and trotted through the gate that was finally standing open by his side, so quickly in spite of being visibly in pain that only its fur got scorched a little more than it already was in a few places.

With much effort and by suffering one or two minor burns in her palm, Arwen got the stall door open that had already caught fire. Alagas stormed towards her immediately. At the last second, she managed to take his halter, not without being kicked by the animal that was anguished by pain as well. The horse rather pulled her outside than let her lead it; but then the young stallion and Arwen, too, broke through the wall of smoke almost impenetrable by now.

Aragorn waited just long enough for someone to take the horses off their hands, then he carefully grabbed Arwen's shoulders. Worriedly, he eyed her sooty skin, the burn marks littering her dress, the bruises and the abrasions on her shin, and her – fortunately not too bad – hand injury.

Despite his own cough, he must be able to clearly hear hers. "By the Valar, are you insane? You can't run towards such danger without armor. _Do you even realize what could have happened to you_?"

"Not to worry. I'm too far enough removed from any High King of the Noldor on my family tree for a dramatic death by fire."

Since her lame attempt to ease the situation earned her just a scathing glance from Aragorn, Arwen squeezed his hand in apology, but then gently pushed him away, as it wasn't advisable that the numerous spectators saw their new King to so upset regarding his partner alone. A sensitive King was a vulnerable King, and that was the last impression Aragorn was allowed to radiate right now. "The boy, mîl nín …"

A still slightly distorted but definitely proud smile curled on Aragorn's lips. Thinking about everyone around them first, on principal, especially about innocents and civilians, before caring for their own condition, had always connected them. After a quick kiss to her healthy hand, he headed for the place where Legolas had collapsed earlier.

The sight of the child was even far worse than the one of the wounded horses. Especially since Aragorn had met the little boy in the past few days already and grown fond of him. He belonged with one of the grooms, being just as crazy for horses as his father, and was always hanging about in the stables. Aragorn wouldn't have recognized him though. Little Ninor's upper body and face were heavily burned.

Aragorn realized that his anger would need an outlet soon. All these rebels were well advised to not cross his way before he had a chance to blow off some steam. Or there would probably be a scandal because the King performed a execution of one of his own people. The way of proceeding left no doubt that these people had actually meant only to harm him, but the result of this unscrupulousness was laying before him on the burned grass, and might never recover from these wounds.

A silly, small part of him hoped this incident might bring the rebels back to their senses, but the warrior in him who had been at the front line in many battles knew better. With such people, it took more than an injured child – or a dead one – for that.

The healer on-site was indeed already about to discontinue his efforts. Disheartened, he looked up to Aragorn. "I'm afraid, it is futile."

"You shouldn't give up so easily. Do you want to tell his parents later, you didn't try everything?" Suppressing the dizziness that the rescue quest had left, Aragorn sat down next to the child to take over from the healer.

"Do you need help, Your Majesty?" a very well-known voice behind him asked quietly.

After the surprising meeting in the flames, Aragorn didn't have more than a relieved smile to spare for Tarisilya's appearance. He should have known better. As if she would seriously have let Legolas ride back to Gondor alone. "It definitely can't hurt if it's yours. Let's take him to the Houses of Healing. The odds really are bad."

"I'm right behind you."

With visible reluctance, Tarisilya gave the tall, grey stallion that Éomer had recently provided her with, to one of the few grooms not busy with capturing the horses. "Put him into a paddock please, within sight of the Citadel. The stable doesn't seem to be an awfully safe place right now," she instructed the young man slightly bitterly before turning to Legolas.

Only her ruffled appearance, with askew hair buns and a festive gown dirtied in a few spots, had Aragorn realize that Tarisilya hadn't been idle in the last minutes either. "He was already gone. Unfortunately, I don't know this city's secret paths. We saw a disguised man run away from the stable when we followed the smell of the fire," she explained at Aragorn's questioning glance.

"I tried to catch up with him to see where he's going or to make out his face at least, but I was too late."

"We'll find him. These people won't stay hidden for long anymore. Come on now. These criminals are not worth it, wasting time on them." Hate darkened Aragorn's voice.

The same people who had been so enthusiastic earlier, now recoiled from his dark expression when he left the scene with the unconscious child in his arms.

The residents stayed back in the streets in silent terror about this cruel end of a beautiful celebration.

Arwen's wounds had quickly been taken care of, so she grabbed the opportunity right afterward to personally visit the room in the Houses of Healing where little Ninor was being treated.

Several bystanders were waiting outside the door who weren't being allowed inside. Next to them, a middle-aged mannish couple; their face being snow-white. The woman was crying, the man looked rigid with fear. Ninor's parents.

Arwen didn't expect special treatment and already turned to leave when the caregiver guarding the door suddenly waved at her. "Her Highness of Eryn Lasgalen would like to see you, Lady Arwen."

Arwen raised an eyebrow in surprise.

When Tarisilya had last met Gondorian healers, she had been the one being treated, literally being on the brink of death. That word had got around so quickly about who she was, and that her instructions were being followed without any objection, meant she must have impressed people pretty deeply today.

Upon entering the room, Arwen quickly understood why.

Aragorn was nowhere to be seen, he seemed to be in the Citadel already, together with his team of advisors, to take measures regarding the attack. He had trustingly left the child in the hands of a healer who was known for her extraordinary abilities in elvish circles, much like Arwen's father and her brothers were.

And the decision had been right; in any case, the child was alive.

Still, seeing the little one like this was depressing. All the bandages covering his body … And how he was thrashing about in pain again and again, in spite of his unconsciousness, no matter how often the other, elderly healer in the room – whom Arwen remembered from her own stay in the sick tent of Cair Andros back then – placed cooling cloths on his wounds ...

"He will be disfigured all his life. If he even still wants to live." Tarisilya was sitting on the edge of the bed with her hand resting on Ninor's forehead, trying to ease his suffering with her powers.

Her own condition was still lousy enough, sadly. Judging by how much her voice was trembling right now, she didn't even remotely have the distance to her patient that protected healers from wounds in their souls. She almost bore a little similarity to the shadow of an elf that she'd used to be shortly after the war, in skin tone alone. What she had been afraid of after this tragedy in Rohan, that her healing abilities would be limited after killing a being for the very first time, still didn't seem to be the case. Therefore, she truly might have been the only one in this city who could have helped the boy until now. But the process had exhausted her and deepened wounds that hadn't healed yet after she had lost a child so shortly ago – and that hadn't been a patient.

"You did all you could." Arwen came to stand beside her. "The other healers didn't even give him a chance. I'm sure he'll be grateful. It won't be easy for him, but life is much too precious to give it up on a whim." She carefully tried to pull Tarisilya to her feet.

"Come on, you look tired. What still needs to be taken care of now, the others can do. You need to rest, Ilya, especially after your mad rush here, or you won't be of any use to patients. How did you even _do_ that anyway?"

"When the message about the coronation reached the temporary fortress, we just couldn't wait anymore. We will find the loneliness we are yearning for in Ithilien, once the pillars of the new elf settlement will be built there. But right now … right now I need to keep busy, I think."

Tarisilya finally took her eyes off of the boy, staring down at her hands. "Once you were gone, Legolas and I tried. In vain. So shortly after the war, neither of us is stable enough to face what happened. It will do us better to make ourselves useful for a while. Here, for example. Which is actually why I wanted you to come here, so I can look out for _you_." With a weak smile, Tarisilya eyed Arwen's admittedly also dubious appearance, her bandages.

"But I see, they've been taking good care of you. And you're right once more. Ioreth, can you do without me here for a few hours?"

The slightly chubby, grey-haired woman hardly looked up from what she was doing. An offended snort on her lips let the two she-elves know what she thought about someone questioning her abilities. "I have for a few decades already, Your Highness. I thank you for your support, but the King's partner seems to be a little wiser than you. Go, it's alright. I know where to send for you, in case it gets worse."

"I will be waiting."

Tarisilya said farewell to her patient with a kiss to his forehead – one of the few non-burned spots of his face – and accompanied Arwen outside.

Ninor's father immediately rushed up to her and showered her with questions.

After repeating what she had told Arwen, Tarisilya next gently prepared him and his wife for Ninor possibly becoming blind on top of everything else.

"We'll know when he wakes up." She took the hands of the woman who seemed miles away. "For now, it's better for him to sleep. Sit by his bedside, talk to him; that helps him. I will visit you as often as I can."

A small glimmer of hope lightened the man's dark eyes. He clawed Tarisilya's shoulders. "You have to help him … He can't die."

"I will do whatever I can so he won't." Tarisilya stepped away slowly and put the man's arm around the hunched shoulders of his wife who was in much bigger need of such a touch. "I can't guarantee anything yet, but he's a tough little cookie. He'll be better soon."

"Thank the Valar." Ninor's father closed his eyes in relief. "How can I ever thank you, Your Highness? Will you stay here in Minas Tirith from now on? The Men of Gondor need your abilities."

"I will be there whenever it is possible."

Tarisilya wasn't ready to make any more commitments, but on their way out, Arwen noticed how she was nodding at some healers and seemed, indeed, to feel a little bit at home in this building already.

"This is not how I thought this day would go," she finally murmured.

"I don't think anybody did." Arwen sighed heavily, trying to ignore the itch and tingling in her palm. "Everything's been so perfect earlier … Why are Men doing these things? We finally had peace, and now they are causing suffering themselves?" With a dismissive gestured, she let her friend know, she didn't expect an answer. It would without a doubt have been shaped by more cynicism than Arwen could deal with right now. For better or for worse, this was Arwen's world now, too, for the rest of her life, including all the downsides.

The mood was sour enough. Just like on her way to the Houses of Healing, Arwen was exposed to many critical glances outside. The spectators probably hadn't failed to notice that Aragorn had run into the burning stable mostly because of her. The news of his open affection at the coronation earlier had surely already spread in the city as well.

In spite of her decision against her immortality, Arwen's hearing hadn't become bad enough to miss some scraps of conversation that would cause Aragorn even more worry. Whoever had committed this attack had reached his goal: People were questioning the city's and the King's safety.

Tarisilya pulled her cloak tighter as if she was starting to freeze under that kind of surveillance as well. "Lady Galadriel knew something was wrong here. When we said good-bye, she warned Legolas that he didn't choose the safest area for the settlement. Which is probably exactly why he is being drawn here. Somehow, he never makes it to stay out of trouble. It's just me whom he'd love to leave under the protection of Lórien until the first houses and telain are finished, though the golden trees have lost all of their magic since Sauron's fall."

Tarisilya's full, pretty lips turned into a hard line. "He doesn't understand that not even Lady Galadriel's and Lord Celeborn's friendship could soothe the grief of a dying elven realm. I'm glad you're here, Arwen. His Majesty insists that the court will provide me with a few things, in appreciation of the support for the little one. And it's not like I'm in a position to the decline the offer."

Of course. Before changing her decision about sailing into the west for the moment, Tarisilya's had meant to leave her own clothes behind on Middle-earth. They were all in exactly the place she didn't want to enter right now. In that regard, Arwen and she were in the same boat, as often happened. "So until Lady Galadriel can have someone bring to me whatever is left of my cabinet, I'll definitely be here."

"You don't know how happy that makes me. I haven't really settled here myself yet."

The conversation was interrupted when they entered the Citadel. Arwen could hardly bite back a grin when she saw Tarisilya's embarrassed grimace about everyone they were passing by bowing to her. Being a Princess suddenly did have its disadvantages, too.

When another, brightly clothed elf on the stairs to the White Tower, who was talking to someone inside, paused mid-sentence upon hearing Arwen's voice in the distance and turned around to her with a loving smile, they accelerated their steps.

Arwen hurried to show the implied bow was required even towards family members in a place defined so much by etiquette like the Citadel. "Ada …"

"Forgive me, Arwen, I've been meaning to visit you for days. And it also warms my heart to see you again, Princess."

Elrond showed the hint of a bow as well. "Your husband is still in a conference with His Majesty, but I would welcome a conversation with the two of you later. Since your departure, your plans in North Ithilien have made a circuit in Imladris more and more. Elves from our realm haven't just come here for the coronation in the last few days, but also to learn more about all this."

The yearning for something in the no longer far distant future marked Elrond's pointed features. "In Imladris, there will soon be just as little left to keep our kin there as in Lórien. Those who are not ready for their journey into the west yet, are happy about the possibility you mean to offer."

"That's exactly why we're here, milord." Arwen watched amused how Tarisilya had her hands on her skirt already, pulling them back in the last moment, remembering that she didn't have to show the curtsy anymore that had been so obligatory towards a high ranking personality like Elrond in the past.

"After today's scare, the gathering of a small circle will have a reviving effect on all of us. His Majesty and Prince Faramir as the new ruler in Ithilien should be consulted as well."

"I will arrange for everything. Many more long hours are ahead of us. Ahead of _all_ of us."

Elrond turned to his conversation partner from earlier and ordered him with audible annoyance to stop keep hanging around in the shadow of the door.

"I suppose you still remember the head of my advisor council whom I'm providing the King with for the time of the upcoming storm."

"Your memory serves you right, milord."

Tarisilya suddenly sounded so dismissive that Arwen shook her head in her friend's direction, almost imperceptibly, fighting her own surprise about this development, and took her eyes off of the tall, very pale, black-haired elf. While Arwen hadn't had the closest relationship with Elrond's grumpy advisor herself in the last few centuries anymore, and even more ugly things had happened between him and Tarisilya, the two of them should actually be grown-up enough to leave that behind them.

Elrond hadn't mentioned to her with even one word that he wanted to do without his librarian for some time to help Men with their initial problems regarding Aragorn's still so young reign, but it was definitely a good decision. As one of the last survivors of the long-fallen Gondolin on Middle-earth, the eccentric loner was just as intelligent as experienced. His pragmatic, analytic mind might be exactly what this dangerous situation needed.

"Ilya." But Erestor didn't seem overly enthusiastic about this meeting either that he'd tried to avoid for a reason. Probably the same reason why he'd made himself completely invisible for days at Legolas' and Tarisilya's wedding already. His deep, smoky voice rather revealed tiredness and old bitterness though, not blatant irritation like Tarisilya's. "It has been long."

Something about this simple sentence had Tarisilya's tense nerves fail her for good. "Not long enough." Now her tone was bursting ice. Abruptly, she turned away and hurried to the King's guest house.

"Resolve this," Elrond ordered Erestor.

"I have tried as you might remember. More than once."

Elrond stopped Erestor, with his arm braced against the doorframe when he wanted to follow Tarisilya with a short shrug anyway. "Not _now_. But make sure, your stay here doesn't cause more trouble than benefit, just because two immature children still can't look each other in the eye, centuries later."

Arwen almost expected to see Erestor shoot flashes from his dark eyes at that respectless description. But he nodded, arduously composed, and said good-bye to join a small group of other elves in the courtyard whose serious faces implied, they were talking about today's events.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. Finally, we've got a few minutes for ourselves." Elrond's glance wandered over Arwen's body so searchingly that she immediately felt like an elfling again. "I didn't expect to see the new King's partner in scorched clothes when we met next."

"Not my fault that some men couldn't help but light a bonfire to celebrate the coronation." Arwen just couldn't bite back her sarcasm.

"I'm very glad you're here. Estel will need your support and your council more than ever right now."

She hadn't missed the inquiring tone in Elrond's voice though that promised another conversation about Aragorn and her that she actually didn't want to have in the foreseeable future. Not at all if she had the choice. After these events, she didn't feel strong enough for further lectures and warnings. "I'll just go see about the horses for a moment, alright? Brego and Alagoas urgently need care and treatment for their injuries. I don't want them to suffer longer than necessary. Give me another half an hour."

Elrond wasn't pleased but dismissed her without resistance. Arwen could have sworn to see a proud little smile on his lips because she now had made friends with the stallion after all that her father had pushed on her for so long already. "Call me if they need an additional healer."

And then again, sometimes, it took only a single sentence to wipe out all misunderstandings between them. Arwen allowed herself a short, firm embrace in the shadow of the entrance and then retreated to at least start recollect herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ada = father  
> * mîl nín = my love


	4. Chapter 4

The war hadn't just cost many soldiers their lives but in some cases had wiped out whole families. After Sauron's attack on the city, more than one house in Minas Tirith was empty. One day, people would learn to live with the pain that the sight of lonely rooms and belongings of the diseased were causing, and dare to start over in these accommodations. A few families that the battles had made homeless, had actually been forced to make this step already. Other buildings transitionally had to replace destroyed public facilities. Therefore, the number of deserted structures gradually dwindled. Even people who'd been living in Minas Tirith for decades, had a hard time right now, knowing who was staying where.

It was, fortunately, a little easier for Aragorn to find the person that Faramir had referred him to after a conversation just as short as honest had had both of them see that Éowyn wasn't very suitable as Arwen's support after all.

No matter how much Faramir loved that woman already, even he had had to admit through clenched teeth, her erratic Rohiril temper wasn't a fit for Arwen's thoughtful nature. And while he'd already had a suggestion for a replacement in mind, that one came with a catch.

The young woman Faramir had used to play with as a child outside the city gates, was one of the many who had lost everyone dear to her in the war. She had retired to exactly one of these abandoned houses, not even leaving it on the occasion of the coronation. She hadn't even wanted to see Faramir when he had gone to see her, to get her back into her former job as a court lady.

But a visit by the King personally, the woman couldn't ignore. After a short discussion through the closed door, several not too ladylike curses, some noise from inside that spoke of a hasty tidying up and a short rushing of water, the woman welcomed Aragorn in a very threadbare but at least clean dress, her dark curls damp. Given how gaunt she was, it was a miracle, she wasn't stumbling right into his arms. The look in her dark doe eyes was broken.

Behind the young woman, a chaos of half-destroyed furniture and dusty windows was unfolding. Badly hidden in a dark corner, sloppily folded clothes were being piled, and toys telling stories of children who would never play with them again.

"Your Majesty, forgive me. I didn't expect you here. After all, I've given up my court duties a while ago already. What can I do for you?"

Reaching out his hand for the young woman, Aragorn put it on a bony shoulder, with a compassionate, slow headshake. He looked deeply into her eyes until she started to shake badly and broke into quiet sobs that her soul didn't even have any strength left for, after having long cried herself empty.

"Come home with me. There's a new purpose waiting for you. I need you in the Citadel."

"Why me?" She tried in vain to break away. A last trace of defiance was still in her, the determination to keep on hiding in her depression, waiting to starve. But Aragorn also thought to see a tiny glimmer of hope through the veil of her tears. A will to fight that not even all her losses could have taken from her. Faramir had been right.

"I'm just a simple maid. You'll find someone like me on every corner of the street. My life is worth nothing, Your Majesty."

"Every single being is worth something," Aragorn objected, just closing his hand tighter around her collarbone that felt like it would soon break in two.

The woman would need some care herself first before she would be able to look out for others. But he knew his beloved well enough to suspect that the two of them would be good for each other in the long run.

"And you still have friends who know your value perfectly well. Pack your things. I'll wait for you outside. Hurry up. Life has missed you, Ranír."

"You know my name?" she whispered in shock, still completely blindsided.

"Soon I will not be the only one at the court who does. Come now."

Since most elves had departed again, unable to witness Faramir's wedding for a lack of time, the time after the coronation was gloomier for Arwen than any she could remember before, in spite of her father visiting her daily and them having all their meals together, in spite of them having maybe more conversations than in the last few years altogether. Most of them in the language of Men so that Elrond could help her improve her already rich vocabulary further, without making it feel like dull teachings.

But just as Aragorn had feared: Him, she didn't get to see, despite of her standing at the court being much more official now. He spent most of his time having discussions with his advisors in the White Tower and was seldom seen. Mostly in the late evening, being on his way to his chambers, visibly completely overwhelmed.

For now, Arwen didn't happen to meet Tarisilya either. The one time she visited the chambers in the guest house of the King that Legolas and his wife had been placed in, Arwen quickly fled again upon hearing voices from inside. She was in no mood to get caught in a vivid argument between newlyweds. Especially when it obviously revolved around a certain black-clad elf with an always very somber stare, who in the few overheard scraps of conversation was described by Tarisilya as being "not of a sane mind". Politely phrased.

So when she wasn't with her father, she spent most of her time in the stable since no one except for the tailor and her valet cared about her anyway. And at that, without really noticing consciously, she daily got closer to the animal that had seemed so strange to her in the beginning.

Alagas knew exactly that she had now saved his life in return and didn't act half as boisterous towards her anymore. He tenderly nibbled at Arwen's hair when she carefully spread a new layer of healing ointment on his wounds instead of pinching her disgruntledly, and trustingly rested his head on her shoulder when she massaged his tense muscles instead of prancing out of reach.

And when she leaned against his stall door for too long, staring away in frustration, as on the evening before her next big challenge, he reminded her with a vigorous swat on the nose that moping had never made anything better. And that changes as big as the ones in her life right now, just demanded a little patience.

"Easy for you to say." Sighing, Arwen caressed her companion's narrow, straight head, nuzzling her cheek against his velvet nostril. "You didn't have enemies here before you even arrived."

Alagas brought his head down so unwillingly that he'd almost have rammed her, snapping at the fresh bandages on his skin.

_Is that supposed to be funny?_

Arwen understood the reproachful message even without speaking the language of horses and called herself to order. She tried her best to leave all her self-pity behind on her way back to the Citadel, so she could catch at least a few hours of restful sleep and would be able to present herself properly tomorrow.

Until the fanfares from the white walls announced the next major event then, she had indeed found at least part of her inner calmness again, not shying away so much from facing the next crowd any longer. After all, things had remained calm since that one uproar from a few dissatisfied citizens, and no one was treating her with hostility. Maybe this whole Stewardaides episode would be over as quickly as it had begun.

This time, the guests had gathered where once the White Tree of Gondor had bloomed in all its glory. First blossoms were slowly starting to grow on again since the last days of the war. As a symbol for the future and for everything that still needed to be done, this was where the unification of Gondor and Rohan through the marriage of two of their leaders should take place.

After the catastrophe at the coronation, all guards were on full alert. Far fewer citizens had been allowed inside the courtyard this time. The festivities' exact timeline was secret; except for a few insiders, most attendants didn't even know when things would get started. Additional men had been accepted into the guard under accelerated procedure who were keeping an eye on the Citadel and its surroundings.

Aragorn couldn't leave anything to chance anymore, and that was a responsibility he was unable to keep from his expression that had still been so happy not too long ago. A silver embroidered, dark blue tunic and snow-white breeches would hardly convey enough of a festive impression to make people forget the sight of his sword on his belt and a put on smile not his continual looking over the crowd. Verilas – who was Aragorn's second-highest-ranking advisor after Faramir – coming to his side nonstop to give him reports didn't help.

The tension dampened the guests' spirits as well. The excited murmurs from the coronation never came this time. People's faces were showing fear. After all, they had all heard Aragorn's acceptance speech. Everyone knew that his enemies didn't just want to ruin his reign but Gondor's good relationship with Rohan as well. Wondering what the King's enemies might come up with to prevent a wedding of such significance didn't allow for any real joy to emerge. Even the cheers when Faramir, clothed with his Steward robe, led his entirely bright yellow-and-white-clad bride out of the White Tower, sounded cautious.

All the more delightful it was that Faramir's wish regarding his old friend Mithrandir officiating the wedding was gladly granted by the wizard. With many hopeful words, he tried to make this actually so beautiful afternoon better for the bridal couple. Maybe it was also thanks to the powerful Ring Companion's presence being a lot more tangible today that the ceremony did indeed proceed without disturbances then.

In spite of the shadow upon the city, it was easy to see the happy glow in Faramir's eyes when Mithrandir finally gave his staff to Pippin who was already eagerly waiting by his side, just like at the coronation, and joined the two lovers' hands together.

Finally, it seemed to get through to Éowyn as well that no one would be able to endanger the newly growing peace between the realms anymore now. A broad smile turned her slightly rough features into a brilliant beam. A few people had had quiet doubts about the feelings of the daughter of Rohan for the Steward so far, as her relationship with him had developed so hastily in the Houses of Healing back then alone. But those were fading away now at the latest, when the two of them kissed intimately under the audience's applause.

Pippin and Merry who were both dressed up for their friends even fancier than at the coronation, with richly adorned, dark green and vibrant yellow tunics, were the first to approach them.

Pippin immediately took Faramir in a fierce hug, his eyes filled with tears of joy. A little inappropriate of course; like at every ceremony of this kind that Aragorn was being present for, that right was actually reserved for him. But no one, least of all Aragorn, begrudged one of the famous heroes of the War of the Ring for that, who had saved Faramir's life on top of that when Faramir's father had lost his mind for good.

After Éowyn had hugged both of the cheerful, cheeky hobbits close for a long moment too, she linked arms with her new husband and strode down the stairs with upright, confident steps, not lowering her head even once, walking towards Aragorn who congratulated them next. It was the first time since the war that Aragorn noticed not even a hint of irritation towards him in the young woman's face, that her smile caused no tense wrinkles it in anymore.

Though it hadn't been his fault, he had always felt very sorry for what had happened between them. All the more glad he was that Éowyn's love for Faramir had truly seized her still so young soul now. At this moment, she was clearly radiating that. And it would hopefully grow bigger every day.

After the members of Aragorn's advisor council had given the couple their best wishes as well, the lovers led the way to the celebration hall where a luxurious meal was waiting for the guests.

While the yard slowly emptied, Aragorn stayed back to wait for his guards once more reporting to him that there were no noticeable problems. When he happened to catch sight of Arwen in the distance, he paused. That he hadn't seen her since the fire was shameful enough. He wanted to make sure at least that nothing was wrong with her anymore.

Her roguish smile was relief enough. Aragorn allowed more warmth to fill his expression when he eyed her closely once more; her firmly laced corset dress – not as feathery as elvish robes but missing the overabundance of fabric the other court ladies' dresses were made of – and the many crystals that her hair had been loosely tied back with. With a slow nod, he acknowledged how much thought the tailor and she had already given to the most acceptable compromise between Arwen's own culture and Men's.

Arwen blushed noticeably. Against better knowledge, she wanted to approach Aragorn now after all.

But that was when Erestor came up next to him, murmuring warningly that Aragorn was drawing unwanted attention his way. "As far as the public is concerned, your full focus has to be on the bridal couple today, Your Majesty, no matter how difficult it is for you. Please remember that at such appearances, you are not standing here as your own person but as the personification of your reign. Private concerns have no place in that."

At these last words, Erestor's eyes glanced over Arwen so reprovingly that she turned away all by herself.

"I know. Thanks for your awareness." Aragorn couldn't suppress a short, yearning sigh. "Will you do me a favor anyway and tell Lady Arwen how enchanting she looks today?"

Erestor did his best to hide a chuckle by clearing his throat but failed miserably. "With all due respect, Your Majesty: If the Lady didn't just see that in your dreamy eyes, she's become blind, I'm afraid. Come on now, there's a celebration that you need to get started."

"I begin to understand why you have the reputation of a spoilsport in Imladris." Rolling his eyes, Aragorn hurried to follow Elrond's advisor into the hall.

Erestor was right, of course. As long as Arwen and he hadn't made the same promise to each other that his Steward had given his partner today, they had to hold back with expressions of affection in public far more than Aragorn had temporarily suppressed it at the coronation. The danger his enemies posed alone demanded that who wanted so badly to cast doubt among the people if their new King as a Dúnadan was even capable of acting according to century-old tradition. There was no need to add fuel to that fire.

Soon enough there would be nothing left to keep Arwen and him from spending their everyday life together. Until then, they just had to pull themselves together some.

Regarding this, in spite of all nitpicking, Aragorn was glad to have a voice of reason by his side.

The next morning Arwen's thoughts were still with Aragorn's behavior. At the celebration, it had almost seemed like he was avoiding her, given how hard he had been trying _not_ to look her way across the tables. Feeling completely pushed aside in such a way hurt, in spite of all understanding for social conventions.

Not even in the early evening then, when the two of them had said good-bye to Arwen's father, and to King Éomer as well, who were being called back to their own realms by their duties, Aragorn had had more than a short caress on her arm to spare for her, inconspicuous for possible watchers at the gate of the ring, before they had gone back inside.

Though that would have produced a little scandal, Arwen would have wished more than anything for her beloved to come see her that night, to hold her when she had hidden tears about the anew separation from her family in her pillow. Though she would see her father a few more times before he would leave for the west at last, and though he had hinted at her twin brothers feeling not even remotely ready to go to Valinor yet, unlike Elrond himself … The growing distance to Imladris painfully squeezed Arwen's heart. And this loneliness wasn't going anywhere. Things in Gondor had to be put in order first, and the last stray groups of enemy in the west had to be defeated as well, before they could even think about wedding preparations or journeys again.

Searching for a distraction, she strolled at sunrise already to the remaining part of the stables where Brego and Alagas had been placed in until reconstruction would be finished. She didn't bother trading her simple silver grey dress for riding clothes; unlike in the last decades of continuous battle, she didn't buckle on her weapon's belt either – as she had actually always used to when she'd left her home –, since she only wanted to see to the horses for a few minutes.

Though Brego's and Alagas' injuries weren't as bad as initially feared, they were still strictly confined to their stalls to rest, which the two energetic animals hated deeply.

Alagas' burns still pained him and made him more petulant than it was in his nature, and Brego was lame in both forelegs because his chest was badly bruised from the escape.

When Arwen saw the two animals prancing restlessly in their stalls, she spontaneously grabbed two long ropes from a hook at the opposite wall and fastened then to the halters so she could take the horses outside with her. They were trotting so happily after her on the unexpected run that Arwen decided, she could ask it of them to take a walk outside the city.

She was surprised to meet hardly any guards on the way down. Were the men suffering the consequences from the boozy celebration that had lasted until late in the night? There were only two men standing at the main gate itself, too. Arwen wondered if Aragorn knew about this and decided to talk to him about it later. So shortly after the attack on the stables, he surely wouldn't approve of such a gap in observation.

The morning dew lay heavy on the grass at the foot of the wall that Arwen absent-mindedly led the horses along. Behind it, life still hadn't really woken up yet. At least for a short while, she could pretend to be home in her remote valley again, far from all worries of Men.

She was only pulled from her melancholy when Brego suddenly threw his fine head back, starting to yank on the rope, and Alagas wanted to run off unrestrainedly at the same moment. In Alagas' silhouette, taller than his fellow Mearh's, there was extremely much strength hidden; he actually almost made it.

"Easy, boy … Come on, everything's alright. Slow down there … That's right. Easy, mellon." First Arwen thought, their wounds were bothering the stallions again and talked to them in half-sung, insistent Sindarin words.

But certain unrest was now seizing her, too. It was _too_ quiet down here. She had to hurry to get back. Something was wrong. Suddenly she felt it very clearly, like a cool breeze blowing through her mind that had been so lethargic a moment ago, that had her shudder inside.

She didn't make it further than two steps. An arrow in the ground, just an inch from her foot, had her startle back with a gasp. All paralyzing sadness was immediately replaced by full attention to her surroundings – too late.

Now the horses made it to break free after all; Alagas was first because Arwen's hand, still hurting because of her burns, didn't fully obey anymore. The ropes' rough surface ripped her skin further when the animals reared up, starting to prance around her after a couple of more arrows had made them all realize in a matter of seconds that there was no chance to flee.

No armor to protect her from the shelling, no shield, Arwen hadn't even brought a damn dagger, in spite of the dangerous events since their return. Wallowing in her offendedness regarding yesterday, she had completely let herself go, trusting the safety of a big city … As if she shouldn't know better after so many centuries. And now it was too late to regret that stupid mistake.

Arwen was already opening her mouth to alert the guards hopefully standing right on the other side of the wall with a warning shout.

"Not a word, she-elf!"

Before she could, she was being surrounded by half a dozen archers, their faces covered with dark cloths, who kept enough distance to the threateningly rearing animals to not risk being battered by hooves. Not having any protective metal on, Arwen couldn't risk one of the arrows aimed at her being let go of. She had no idea where the attackers had come from, the horses had blocked her sight. Actually, the men could only have left the city right after she had.

She had been so damn careless … Her hands curling into hard fists in growing anger, especially on herself, she retreated but was stopped abruptly.

One of the men had come up behind her, slipping through Brego and Alagas with a swift jump. He stumbled only shortly when Brego rammed him from the side, upset, but was back on his feet in time to put a dagger to Arwen's throat.

Her attempt to render the man harmless by a hard punch in his rips was rewarded with a cut so deep, so close to her artery that she gasped in alarm. These people were absolutely serious, whatever they were planning. And there weren't many possible options.

"Don't scream, my sweet pointy-ear, or it will be the last time," the stranger hissed.

He roughly shoved her towards one of his companions who had found a way to pass the now clearly calmer horses' bodies as well and welcomed Arwen with another dagger raised in warning, his free hand firmly grabbing her wrists.

The two highly intelligent animals seemed to have understood how much danger their companion was in and lapsed into especially loud neighing instead of continuing to try and take the men out. Unfortunately, Arwen had to doubt that one of the soldiers would understand that as a warning sign.

"Tie her up," the first man ordered harshly. "I'll prepare the message for our honored King."

The dirty laughter from all around was unsettling enough to start defending herself properly again after all. Arwen couldn't let these people take her. Even though she had no doubt that she would be able to free herself the first chance she got … Not only would Aragorn have to endure fearing for her life, and the folk would be thrown into turmoil again about the King being unable to beat off another of his enemies' attacks … Such a defeat would also really be a damn shame for Arwen's fighting abilities that she'd perfected for centuries.

More irritated by the second, she kicked the man in front of her in the kneecap and broke away, spinning around, out of the reach of his blade. With her elbow hitting the middle of his chest, she shoved another one of the guys to the ground. But before she could push through the gap opening up in the tight circle and maybe try to get onto Alagas' back, she felt deadly steel on her neck again. A kick to the back of her knee had her slump forward with a moan.

A moment that her enemies used to yank her arms behind her back and immobilize her wrists with rope. With her eyes wide open, she stared at the arrowheads once more aimed at her heart and writhed in disgust when a cloth was ruthlessly stuffed into her mouth.

The first guy that she easily recognized by his tall, sinewy shape grabbed her chin, a sleazy grin in his voice. "Now, now, birdy. If you're being good for us now, you might actually survive this day. It's all up to you." He laughed scornfully at the expression of growing wrath in her eyes that he even had to be able to make out through the very narrow slits in his mask.

Without a warning, he tore the necklace off of Arwen that her grandmother had given her at the wedding in Imladris not too long ago, tied it to a rolled parchment and thrust it into the hand of one of the others. "He'll recognize that elvish kitsch immediately. Put it somewhere on her horse."

"Would love to, but that creature doesn't let anyone come close!" was the nervous answer.

"Then tie it to the halter of the other! That's the King's horse. He'll find the message one way or another. Come on now, before the guards find their bound companions at the main gate."

The leader got one of the horses that one group member was waiting with apart from them. "The little dove rides with me. Don't forget the last detail of her dress. Can't have our future _Queen_ be lacking in looks."

More unanimous laughter followed.

Before Arwen understood what was happening, someone put a black bag over her head from behind, the worst, the cruelest method of torture that these scumbags could have come up with for one of her kin. Nothing was worse for an elf than having to live with absolute darkness around them.

Every lesson of caution in such a dangerous situation ever learned forgotten, Arwen tried pulling away one last time. Thanks to her superior Firstborn-abilities dwindling constantly as of late though, she only felt someone dragging her along and how she was being lifted onto a horse. She made a move to thrust her elbow back once more, then there was suddenly a dull ache at her temple, and she knew nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * mellon = friend


	5. Chapter 5

"Your Majesty?" There were some days when Verilas hated his job fiercely.

After waiting in the silence of the hall for a moment, he just entered Aragorn's still darkened living chambers against all of his usual habits and knocked on the bedroom door. Though there again was no answer, he went in there as well and loudly cleared his throat. There were things that didn't allow delay.

He had expected to find the ruler asleep, but he was sitting by the window facing the garden behind the King's House, absently looking outside at this part of his private area in the Citadel laying in the dusk. "I didn't invite you in."

"I know, Your Majesty." The advisor hurried to show a bow though his ruler didn't even turn to look at him. His hand clenched around the parchment that he'd kept in a pocket of his robe on his way here, so it wouldn't be seen by people immediately. "Please, begging your pardon for the disturbance, but … Lady Arwen."

The squeaking, almost panicked tone in Verilas' voice now alarming him after all, Aragorn got up and opened the curtains to let in what little light there was. Verilas' pale face upset him visibly, just like his crumbled position.

"Here." From how the King's startled at the sight of the parchment and how he downright tore it from his hand, Verilas suspected, Aragorn had recognized the necklace around it immediately.

"Your horse had it. It strayed the streets of the first ring, abandoned. One of the guards saw it and informed us immediately. Lady Arwen's mount is outside the city gate and won't let anyone catch it."

As Aragorn still stayed silent, Verilas cautiously stepped closer. "Your Majesty? What do you intend to do?"

Aragorn blankly stared at the paper that described in dark red words all that would happen to Lady Arwen if he kept on wearing the crown. His hand turned into a fist around it.

"Have all of the city guard gather in the yard. I want to know _how_ by all the Valar this could have happened. In the meantime, have my council report for duty in the White Tower. Let Faramir summon the most capable men of his old troops. I want to see this realm's best Rangers in the Tower _immediately_!"

"As you command." Verilas took a quick bow.

"If you allow the question, what will you do until everyone arrives?" He couldn't hide his worry.

He instantly saw some anger on him, too, flash in Aragorn's piercing grey eyes and had to do his best to withstand that look. Now, at the latest, he understood how this man could have stared the Dark Lord in the face. Such unconditional determination could become a disadvantage for the whole realm though if Aragorn was possibly to act rashly, guided only by his feelings.

But the King's fingers were surprisingly calm when he unfastened the necklace from the parchment and slipped it in the inside pocket of his vest. "Making sure, the most precious horse of Lord Elrond's breed stops dashing about the fields in madness. Afterward, I will find out how they could kidnap a she-elf right outside my city gates in spite of our security precautions." His voice sounded like bursting ice.

Without waiting for another reaction, Aragorn left his chambers. In passing, he tore his sword from the holder on the wall and girded it.

Verilas watched him leave with a heavy heart and then got moving, too.

Apparently, he could finally kiss the illusion good-bye that under the King's reign, things in these halls would be slightly more peaceful than under Denethor's before.

One his quick run through the city's rings, Aragorn was occasionally being recognized by citizens, but nobody dared to approach him, to even look at him for longer than a few seconds.

The soldiers on the other hand probably wished for a hole to swallow them when they bowed to him and his enraged eyes met theirs.

Only when Aragorn spotted Alagas' strong, dark brown silhouette prowling about in the distance, so confused that the animal repeatedly almost stumbled over the rope on his halter, his position relaxed a little. He whistled through his teeth several times until the animal noticed him and then approached the young stallion that immediately reared up and kicked at him though.

Only when Aragorn addressed it in Sindarin, the animal let him come closer and nudged his chest with its head as if seeking his comfort – or as if it wanted to push him towards a certain direction.

"I know, my friend." His expression empty, Aragorn caressed Alagas' thin flank and took him by his halter. "I feel the same way."

How easy it would have been, getting on the horse immediately to search for the attackers' tracks that only waited to be found! How quickly he would have known where to ride! With a fast horse, one who wasn't still compromised by the fire, he could even have caught up with the men.

But things weren't that easy anymore. He wasn't a Dúnadan anymore who could go wherever he wanted. No matter how loudly everything in him was screaming that Arwen would need exactly that part of him today, he turned away with a jerk. Not to mention that even with all of his fighting experience, he might not be able to defeat a whole group of enemies alone, and even if he would, far too many of them would be able to get away and keep posing a threat to his folk … The King of Gondor couldn't just vanish of the face of the earth. Others would have to do that for him.

It was the first but it certainly wouldn't be the last time, he had to make a decision in favor of his duties that he hated with all of his heart.

_"Hey, sleepyhead! Get up!"_

_"Go away." Arwen buried her face in her pillow and squeezed her eyes shut._

_"_ Arwen _! Nana is waiting for us! Get up!"_

_"Dontwanttowanttosleep." Arwen pulled her blanket up over her head, trying to ignore her brothers' annoying voices, to slip back into that exciting dream from before in which she had gone to battle by Glorfindel's and Thondrar's side, a proud warrior on her way to becoming a hero …_

_She sat up with a keen yelp when something disgustingly cold and wet splashed at her feet that jutted out vulnerably from under the slightly too short covers. "_ I hate you _!"_

_"_ You're _the one who insisted on accompanying nana to the mountains. So get yourself together." Elladan made a move to give her another round from the bowl in his hand. "You know she hates it to wait for us."_

_"Nobody said we were starting so early, Elli!" Arwen managed to shield her face with her blanket just in time before it could be hit by a big torrent._

_"I told you not to call me that. You're really getting too old for that." He sulkily put the bowl aside, crossing his arms in an attempt of radiating authority like their father so easily could. Thanks to his untidy braid and the pollen all over his tunic, that didn't quite work for him just yet though._

_"Elli! Elli!" Arwen hurled the cover at him and bounced on her bed, gleefully laughing as his expression grew more irritated by the second, especially because Elrohir now could hardly stifle a grin either._

_"Oh, that's it. You're really going to get it now!" Losing his temper, Elladan threw the cover to the ground and started to lunge at her._

_Arwen quickly jumped out of reach. "Catch me then! You're too_ slow _!"_

_With a small screech, she backed away when her brother reached out his much longer arms to her to torture her with one of his tickle attacks and ran outside to the kitchen. She almost bumped into her father who was standing in front of a pot with hot water, chopping vegetables. Arwen decided to ignore his scolding._

_Before Elladan could get hold of her after all, she fled to her mother who was sitting at the table, watching her family's ado with one eyebrow raised._

_"Nana, help me!" Arwen wrapped her arms around her neck and climbed her lap._

_Laughing, Celebrían hugged her close and ruffled her messy hair. "Did you annoy one of your brothers again, starlet?"_

_"Not at all!" She shook her head so wildly that her curls whirled around it. "Elladan was mean!"_

_"I was_ not _! You told me to wake her up!" Her brother voiced a loud protest immediately._

_Celebrían regarded them with a lenient headshake, then she started to tickle Arwen without a warning until she writhed, giggling, and almost fell to the floor. "You're both a hazard, all three of you. You're worse than your ada's young horses."_

_Laughing, she put Arwen down and pushed her towards her room. "Now go, quickly. The sun is coming up soon. If you want to watch the big cats with their kittens, we have to hurry."_

_"Animal babies?" Arwen beamed. Now she started to tug on her nightgown all by herself._

_"It's the right time of the year. If we're lucky, we might see a few fawns too. But for that, you'll all have to get ready first." Celebrían watched them in amusement as they stormed off to get dressed, suddenly all of them determined to be the first who was ready to leave._

"Hey, you! Wake up!"

Arwen was torn from her sleep by a voice not half as pleasant as her brothers' and the one so dearly missed, of her mother, that she would never hear outside her memory again. A rude kick in her side followed that made her painfully remember a certain sprained rib that hadn't fully healed yet.

Still quite dizzy, she opened her eyes. For seconds she tried in vain to remember why she was laying on hard, uneven ground that had left her arms with some abrasions already, and especially why she could hardly see anything. When she felt the rough bonds around her wrists, it came back to her in a flash. The men outside the gate … They must have brought her to their base. Where that was, she wouldn't learn anytime soon though, as her eyes were covered by a thick black cloth. At least she wasn't being gagged anymore; her mouth now was so dry though that she could still hardly mutter a word, and her stomach growled audibly.

"Get up, she-elf." The same man who had woken her up so immensely _gently_ , yanked her up by her bound arms. "Get going."

Arwen had no interest whatsoever in any more wounds, provided she could prevent them. Besides, she finally wanted to know now whom exactly she was dealing with here. So she obeyed for now.

Punches hitting between her shoulder blades pushed her further and further down a cool hall, so narrow that rock was scraping her arms that was awfully slick on top. A cave, then. Thanks to her thin summer dress, she soon started to freeze. Whatever this place was, it was ice-cold for this time of the year. Besides, there was a fell smell in the air. Maybe there were predators living here. The prospect did nothing to calm her.

When she was being pushed to the ground once more, at least she ended up on a blanket this time.

For minutes, silence prevailed, safe for the too-quick breathing of the man who had brought her here and who kept standing behind her, and the one of a second guy not too far away from her.

"Such a shame," the second man sighed in mock concern at last. It was the same leader who'd been at the kidnapping. "Such a beautiful elf. How did you get yourself in so much trouble, Lady Arwen?"

"Why don't you tell me, _man_? Are you proud to create a new conflict between our folks? Have you learned nothing from the war? You are no better than the scum in Sauron's army."

Arwen tried to make out where the voice was coming from exactly, but thanks to the cave, the echo was distorted. Immobilized like this and basically blind on top, she wouldn't have a chance to defend herself properly if the men attacked her; no amount of received defense teachings by certain Balrog slayers in her valley would help with that. She could only hope that the man would keep to interrogations.

"Now, now." The man clicked his tongue chidingly. "No need to get impolite. After all, you're the one making herself at home at a court you don't belong to. Provoking that conflict is only on you. You should just go back to your own and leave this stiff life of a woman in the Citadel behind. Is that what you want, Lady Arwen? Do you want to be free to get back to your valley?"

"Sounds good. At least people there don't fight each other. And there are no creeps who don't even dare to show their face when they kidnap someone to enforce their shameful ambitions." With as much composure as she could possibly muster, Arwen tried to unfasten the tightly bound knots of her restraints. In her growing wrath, she was tempted to spit at the man's feet. But she could only sense that he was moving around; she still couldn't tell exactly where he was.

"Necessary discretion to protect our people from your precious King's quick sword hand. No matter what you might think of us: Unlike your partner, Stewardaides despise violence. Honestly."

A sweaty hand grabbed Arwen's chin so she was forced to look up as if she could make out anything in spite of her blindfold. "One of the reasons why our association exists in the first place. Somebody has to make sure, peace and quiet will find Gondor again, and that the right man holds the leadership position. But isn't that much too complicated business for a she-elf? After all, your folk has never cared about this world. Don't worry your pretty little head about the politics of Men. Harming you won't do me any good. If you tell me a little bit about your life, you can leave immediately. I'm very curious by nature, you know. I'm especially interested in the last few months. You must have seen a lot on your journey to the west, especially given you've been in such noble company."

"King Elessar will track down every single one of you. He will punish you severely for the stable fire, the little boy's injuries, and for this, right here, too. You will be wishing, you'd never raised your voice against him!" Arwen tried to break away in disgust. If these people really thought she would tell them anything, they knew even less about elves than suspected.

"Your beloved King will get you back in pieces if you keep on resisting, birdy. Maybe then he'll understand how serious we are." The grip on Arwen's jaw tightened.

"Then he'll have even more reasons to hunt every last one of you." At least now she knew where the guy was and spit thickly, right in his face, so he let go of her in surprise. "The King will never give in to demands of cowards like you."

Her kidnapper yanked her up by her hair so brutally that a short moan came from her lips. "You should pray that he _does_ because we have no problem sacrificing even a she-elf for the good of Men."

A blow to her still battered side shoved Arwen to the ground again, whereupon she hit her head. The last thing she could remember was the leader ordering harshly to take her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * nana = mother


	6. Chapter 6

Aragorn understood better and better why he could remember Lord Elrond actually only with this withdrawn, light frown on his face, and why Erestor already seemed to have forgotten how to laugh two Ages ago. If the Lord of Imladris and his chief advisor had been dealing with similar things for millennia as Aragorn had to, now that he was King, he could understand this attitude very well.

He desperately wished, his foster father hadn't left the city so early, and not only because it might take days now, maybe even weeks, until he would even learn that something had happened to his daughter. Depending on the realm that his foster father might stop for a break at on his way back, if he even would, being one of those that Aragorn had sent carrier pigeons to or not.

In addition to the feelings of guilt that Aragorn had because of the kidnapping anyway, he could really have used his foster father's level-headed mind by his side right now.

It felt like each and every dwarf of Moria was working with their hammer inside his head. It was depressing enough, having to deal with enemies of your own regime so shortly after your coronation. Things became annoying when you were forced to wait for news from a third party about your own beloved's fate, to avoid leaving an inconsiderate impression with the folk.

But it became really absurd when you had to start arguing about interior design then.

In fact, Aragorn had to start doubting his initial positive judgment of his advisor-council; there seriously were voices being raised among the men that the new reign was ill-fated and that they should discard habits and destroy possessions of the past as quickly as possible, to get rid of the bad luck clinging to everything that reminded of how destructive Denethor's rule had been in the end. Starting with the big meeting room in the White Tower.

Prejudice and mistrust among the folk were bad enough. Aragorn refused to deal with superstition on top. But since he'd already realized that discussions with these people led to even more delay by default, he had postponed the debate for the moment and moved the morning emergency sessions to his own chambers without further ado.

In retrospect, unfortunately, a bad idea. Now the fruitless conversation about something happening out there without Aragorn being allowed to intervene directly took even longer … And he didn't even have time left for being alone in his living room to make a decision he'd avoided ever since the attack.

When the first of Faramir's Rangers came back to the city with nothing but a gloomy headshake, even durable patience like Aragorn's was at an end. As he could easily visualize the all but palpable pain on Elrond's expression alone, once he would learn that he might lose his daughter even earlier than by his journey to the west, Aragorn finally had to act.

Before the sun had even gone up, before the first of his extremely helpful advisors could knock on his door again, he traded his bright red silk tunic for inconspicuous grey and brown hunting clothes, pulled his hood over his hastily tied back hair, and used his ability to move unseen to get to the stables without attracting any attention.

For now, he just wanted to go meet the rest of Faramir's riders who had pulled an all-nighter. Depending on what they would have to say to him, he had to get back here as soon as possible to take additional steps. But the only one who had apparently spotted him on the way, in spite of all carefulness, eyed him as if he'd lost his mind when he led Brego from his stall.

"Get out of my way, mellon."

"I love animals too much for that, my friend." Legolas snatched Brego's reins from his hand faster than Aragorn's still-tired senses realized and brought him back.

"He's still lame, can't you see that? If you're so deadset on hurting the people and yourself with another scandal, consider at least that you won't make it far with a badly battered horse."

"Well, I'd expect you to have changed clothes and saddled up already if _you're_ so deadset on spying on me," Aragorn replied sarcastically, hinting at the evening on the Paths of the Dead that he'd also tried in vain to lose his companions. At least Gimli still seemed to be asleep today.

Unlike back then though, he wasn't half as reluctant to take the elf with him today. Until now, he had arduously talked Legolas out of searching for his old friend himself before they knew more, as Aragorn was very well aware of how much Tarisilya still needed her husband around. But having a second experienced tracker by his side just would have been worth a lot.

Now of all times though, when he had finally brought himself to leave, Legolas suddenly seemed to change his mind. "I'm not here to join you in something that brings more damage than an advantage."

He hastily unsaddled Brego who endured it unusually calmly, apparently glad indeed to not have to follow his owner outside. Only when the stallion turned his head to bite, because upon unfastening the cinch, Legolas nudged a still-sensitive spot, he stopped his head with an irritated comment in Sindarin. Said love for animals didn't go as far as wanting to catch an unpleasant wound.

"If you're so convinced that you need to leave instead of sending someone else, just do it instead of glaring daggers at me. How am I supposed to keep the King of Gondor from anything? Faramir and Erestor both provided you with enough arguments about why you can't give these misguided people any more of your personal attention. Unless you want them to exclusively target people close to you henceforth. If you want to ignore all of that, better get out of here right away before somebody else sees you."

Aragorn hesitated for a moment but then turned away abruptly to find a horse whose speed was a match for Brego's. Maybe Tercelborne; Tarisilya hopefully wouldn't mind.

In his absentmindedness, he almost ran into Faramir who approached from the other side.

"Given you can make it past _him_ ," Legolas added, as amused as one could be, being worried sick about one of their oldest companions.

"It's really encouraging how much you two trust me." Remaining unimpressed, Aragorn continued looking around among the horses. " _After_ you deemed me capable of leading a whole army in the crucial battle and taking office in these realms, you put it past me to decide what the right thing to do is?"

"Right now, I have to." The brightening morning light revealed Faramir's ashen skin, the stringy look of his strawberry blonde hair. One would expect a newly married man to appear far healthier and more spirited. "You won't find anything more than the others. And unlike them, you'll surely not stop when you tire and the waning light of day prevents an efficient search. Men that you trusted with everything in the war already, are doing everything they can. Do you really want to show people how small _your_ trust in your own fighters is after they already had to notice the gaps in the city's defenses?"

"This isn't about trust but about providing Arwen with the optimal help. Your people aren't the only ones who have often wandered these lands. My paths, too, led me through their woods more than once in the past, and closer to Mordor than many others came when the enemy was still preparing for war there and I had to track Gollum down. The kidnappers' traces are already cold, soon they'll be useless. One short shower, and we won't have any clues at all left about where these men rode to. The longer I wait, the worse all this could end, for my partner of all people, only because of me. Or did you forget that the Stewardaides have declared elves, in particular, their enemies? That's been happening a little too often recently for my taste."

Aragorn's meaningfully glanced at Legolas. It was still far too painful for both of them to remember Dunland, all that blood in a rocky pit, seven maimed Firstborn corpses ... That, as well, had been a crime born of fanatic hate.

"Let me do it." Faramir tiredly rubbed his forehead, a gesture emphasizing his exhaustion. "I'm still the one who knows the most corners of Ithilien. And we need results as soon as possible, you're right about that. Not only am I just as concerned about Lady Arwen as you. Word has already got around that your enemies struck once more. If we cannot achieve a clear victory over them, it will only encourage their beliefs. I would be grateful for support though."

He looked at Brego's stall where Legolas was still acting as if suddenly none of this was his business anymore.

Only when Aragorn looked his way too, he finally reacted. And he only needed to look outside the stall window, towards the Citadel, to make Aragorn understand why he was hesitating so much.

When Legolas had last gone on a journey for him, it had cost his wife and himself something that could never be made right ever again; it was a simple as that. Besides, the plans for the elven settlement in North Ithilien were progressing quickly and actually didn't allow any delay.

Many of the elves who had come here were long ready for their first work both in North Ithilien and in Minas Tirith, to strengthen the solidarity between their folk and Men. A factor not to be underestimated especially in these unstable times. And though these Firstborn were just as upset by Arwen's disappearance as they were, to Aragorn's best knowledge there wasn't a fighter or hunter of a quality that would be of any use on such a quest among them. The trained elvish warriors were all still busy protecting their own realms from last enemy groups. No, these settlers had come here for Legolas, and they would need his motivation and explanations all the more right now, so recent happenings wouldn't discourage them again immediately.

But still, none of that would have been a reason to deny such a request, not when it was about Arwen. Something else was off here.

"You really don't know what day it is, do you, Aragorn?"

"Given the last few days haven't damaged my wits, the eleventh." Aragorn could spare himself the follow-up-question the moment he had said it.

The eleventh, of course. Tarisilya's begetting day. As if it wasn't enough that Tarisilya had to fear so much for her friend on this day of all days.

There was no way Aragorn ask Legolas to leave Minas Tirith today. Not after what had happened in Rohan. That would be possible again tomorrow at best if nothing useful had happened until then.

" _No one_ will go with or instead of me. I'll be back as fast as I can, but your place, Faramir, is in this city when the King leaves it, you have to realize that. That my enemies are apparently staying in Ithilien right now doesn't mean they won't ever try anything here anymore. We have to keep them in check on all fronts. I won't let these bastards have their way."

They were interrupted by another new arrival. Unlike Legolas, Tarisilya hadn't dressed up for her special day. Instead, she carried his usual resilient traveling clothes and his weapons in a bundle under her arm as Aragorn noticed with a good deal of bafflement. So much for them having to go easy on the she-elf. He should know better by now.

"What are you still doing here, elwen?" Greeting the others with only a quick nod, Tarisilya came to stand next to her husband in Brego's stall and took his hands. "Do you seriously think I can celebrate when one of my closest friends is in mortal danger? You've been roaming the courtyard like a warg ever since yesterday. If you don't finally leave, someone is going to try and shoot you with an arrow."

"Then you two go," Faramir finally sighed, reluctantly, when he saw Legolas' doubtful consent.

"You want to feed your enemies' hopes?" Erestor's unexpected appearance almost completed the circle of the King's closest confidants.

"Neither His Majesty nor you can get actively involved in this matter, Steward. You endanger your realm's government by emotionally colored decisions."

"That you are unable to understand something like that is not exactly news." Tarisilya didn't make her dislike of the eccentric Noldo a secret any more than in the last few days. "If you feel more comfortable in circles where people rather have discussions than save lives, maybe you should go back home."

"Your new title still doesn't give you the right to judge my behavior in any way, Ilya," the other elf who seemed even another shade paler than usual today, replied with audibly forced calmness. "I would long be out there myself if my assignment wasn't to stay in the city, especially in such situations, to assess and influence people's reactions. That was Lord Elrond's wish, so I oblige, no matter how hard that is for me when someone is missing that I know since they were born." There was so much honest pain in his piercing dark eyes that Tarisilya turned away in shame.

"If none of the search parties finds out anything, I will leave for Ithilien anyway, though that might not fit your worldview. Not all of us bury their head in the sand or run away on principle as soon as it gets a little difficult."

"Now, you listen here …"

" _Silence_ , _both of you_!" Aragorn forced himself to take a deep breath after raising his voice so much for a moment that not even the horses were making any sound anymore. Actually, it wasn't for him to talk to Firstborn like that, but these two's behavior had already been driving him crazy the whole time. "I don't know what happened between you two; it's none of my business either. But if you want to speak up in my presence, you get along. Or I'll have you sent outside the city gate with your personal belongings so you can go back to Imladris and Lórien, as far away from each other as possible! I really have worse problems than carrying the can for a century-old quarrel!"

He gazed outside the stable where the first rays of sun slowly made their way across the land. He had lost precious time. "I thank you for your advice, Erestor, but my mind is made up. I'm glad if you keep an eye on things for me here. Focus on that please, not on petty conflicts."

Still mad, he passed the elves by without another word and got Tercelborne from one of the other stalls who fortunately followed him trustingly, especially after Tarisilya had nodded at him in confirmation, her cheeks visibly flushed after his little reprimand.

If Legolas still wanted to come, in spite of Aragorn snarling at his wife like that, that was fine with him, but he should kindly hurry up then.

Legolas still pulled Tarisilya close for a few last words of good-bye, and he let him. Aragorn didn't need Erestor's sharp ears to be able to make out his friend's voice in the echo of the half-empty stable. And the self-reproaches in it definitely didn't make the departure any easier.

"I'll be back soon."

While almost a thousand years, most of which had been wasted with waiting and secrecy, hadn't been enough yet for Legolas to know Tarisilya inside out: By pretending to be stronger than she was she could never fool him.

Of course, she wanted him to go help Arwen. And they definitely shouldn't wait anymore, no longer than it would take Aragorn to get ready to leave.

But Tarisilya's mind, still darkened by grief, also yearned for her to keep spending the nights in his arms, motionlessly and crying silently, in an attempt to climb that mountain of pain that the loss of their child had left. Waiting in despair for the next morning so she could distract herself with the next task or patient. This wasn't about a celebration that wouldn't have taken place today anyway. Even without a kidnapping, for the two of them, there was no reason for friskiness. This was about her not wanting her to be alone right now.

"Please go. Don't make it even harder." Her hands clenched on his new tunic for a moment, then she forced herself to let go and hug him instead. "Take care of yourself. I don't feel like having to patch you up once again."

"It's only a few misguided men, Ilya." Legolas tried to push aside the comparatively minor danger waiting for him this time with a short smile.

"Like the few misguided Uruk-hai at the Gap? Like those few Dunlendings in Rohan? Or those at Helm's Deep?" she replied bitterly.

A moment later, she let her head fall back against the stall's wall when both old and fresh pain had Legolas' pinch his eyes shut. It was only the barrier around his memories that Tarisilya had personally built in him for his protection in Helm's Deep that kept him from losing every drive to try and stop hostile men yet again. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're right. I have overestimated myself once too often already. This time I will gratefully listen to your voice of reason."

But Legolas did step back from her now because these suppressed memories that had been scratching more and more of the surface recently, tried to choke his soul like a poisonous cloak. Aragorn wouldn't wait for him, and he still had to change clothes.

When he bent down to get his things though, something fell into his hands that his wife had apparently brought unknowingly as it had been stored together with his daggers in their chambers … And that should be regarded as a hint of fate without a doubt.

Before he could say anything, Brego came between them, his head nudging Tarisilya's hands that he had in good memory after a healing session on their past journey, while he probably would have pushed Legolas out of his stall with his behind if he could.

"I know, I know. Stop it, you charmer. Fine, I'm going to help you." No matter how badly Tarisilya was doing, horses always drew laughter from her.

Half of her thoughts already at the healing, she only looked up again when Legolas held out to her the bright red cloth, interweaved with silver threads, that he'd prepared the prior night. "What is this?"

"Something that I won't be able to give you in time if the trip takes longer than expected." Since Tarisilya made no move to take the cloth from him, Legolas just took her hand and put it in it so she could feel the characteristic shape of a blade under the wrapping – and also, that he was trembling.

That he once more overcame a deeply rooted reluctance inside of him this morning, one she knew just too well. She knew it since that day after they had just started to get to know each other when he had shown her how to use a bow and her brother had given him a piece of mind. And since then, from every time that he helped her with harmless target practice or showed her simple moves and gestures for self-defense every now and then.

He hated it when his wife used a weapon; probably nothing would ever change about that. But if she had to, he wanted to try and make sure at least that she would know then what she was doing.

If she even still wanted that after Rohan though, was a different matter.

_I am very grateful that you saved my life, but do not confuse that with the permission to turn my sister into a warrior._

The memory of Tegiend and the usual pain of separation coming with it tried to rob Tarisilya of her breath for a moment. She frantically tried to visualize any other image from the past and promptly ended up with Aragorn's and Legolas' fight before their departure for the west.

_In my family, it is_ not _common that she-elves ride out with a bow and a sword every day. Ada and I had to learn that lesson the hard way as you should know._

Just a few weeks later, Legolas had been forced to give her his daggers because he had had to be afraid that she would need them. And she had indeed. While those blades had not saved their baby, at least they had helped to not lose her own life in Rohan. And without any noticeable effects on her healing abilities no less.

That seemed to have altered Legolas' previously so deadlocked opinion about the contributions of most she-elves to battle outside of wartimes. But that change hadn't reached his heart yet, she could clearly see it in him. She didn't want to bear him being so afraid of her willingly throwing herself into a battle, now that she was being armed.

_Don't you always say that whoever uses a weapon should be able to handle it?_

"You already proved you can do that quite well when it counts, moon-queen," Legolas answered the question echoing in her memory … and in their marriage bond, so tender still, and unreliable especially since the miscarriage. He stopped her wrist when she wanted to give the cloth back to him. "We'll start on the rest of the most important exercises when I'm back. This is not about how that makes me feel. I won't always be able to be with you. So let at least part of the strength that I will fight for you with all my life, do so."

Tarisilya opened the cloth with trembling hands. What choice did she have, given life in Gondor seemed to become more dangerous every week? Her victory in Rohan had been barely thanks to anything more than the energy of despair and good aim, paired with a trick that she had been able to get to the attacking Uruk-hai's uncovered neck with. A trick that could have led to her death just as well. And she hadn't been able to fend off the hard punch to her stomach with it when the bastard had fallen, that had destroyed Legolas' and her life within seconds.

If she didn’t want to be that helpless next time, she would have to learn how to handle such a weapon … And Legolas would be standing beside her anxiously every time. Fear welled up inside her when the light of the stall window refracted in the slightly curved blade, blinding her as if it wanted to remind her how little she knew about all this. This would never be her world. This was something for warriors like Tegiend and Aragorn, like Legolas ...

_I won't always be able to be with you._

And what if someone threatened her family one day? The memory of a vision that she'd often had in the war, brushed Tarisilya's mind, so intensively that she had to brace herself against the wall again, with closed eyes.

_The child._

The child from her visions. Legolas' and her son, with bright hair and his big ocean blue eyes looking up at her trustingly. It was impossible for her to tell if it hadn't just been fever dreams creating this vision back then, or if that child had not been the baby she'd only been allowed to carry in her for such a short time.

And still, she knew all of a sudden, in a vague but entirely certain way that she couldn't explain. If Legolas and she could restart their lives as lovers at some point, then she would be allowed to hold this child in her arms one day. If the two of them would already have started their life in the west by then, maybe it would indeed even be the same innocent little soul that Mandos had hopefully started to look after not too long ago. And Tarisilya would see this child grow up, not torn away from it at birth like her own mother. Legolas then wouldn't always be able to be there either.

_She would never lose a child again._

Opening the cloth completely, Tarisilya revealed a snow-white handle, adorned with jewels. The gems formed a crescent. On the other side, there was the same sentence in Tengwar written that Legolas had used to give her his eternal promise. The blade looked completely unused, sharp even to the smallest touch.

She wondered when Legolas had had time for this work, but it was unmistakably his handwriting. She knew this precision and love for details from his bow, back then before in gratitude for his tireless support of the Fellowship of the Ring, he'd been given that precious silver-white weapon of the Galadhrim in the war. So he had gone so far with fighting himself as to even do this himself.

"I …" A thank you wouldn't come, despite everything. The gift was just too much of a curse, more than a blessing, for that.

Legolas closed her lips with his own. "When the moon is full, I'll be back, Ilya. Then we'll have much to catch up with. I won't celebrate your first begetting day as my wife with a gift of blood. There is more that I have prepared. But I do not want to give you that on such a dark day."

"We have much time still, my Prince." Carefully, Tarisilya put the dagger down on a wooden edge outside of Brego's reach and said good-bye to her husband with the last hug.

"Get her back, Legolas. I don't want to lose Arwen. As long as someone keeps this walking bookshelf out there out of my sight, I'll manage to wait for your return as patiently as possible."

"Erestor has more experience with a dagger than you. Don't take your chances," Legolas answered more dryly than humorously before he hurried to the tack room to finally get changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * elwen = heart


	7. Chapter 7

Arwen woke up still being in complete darkness, with a splitting headache and another few bruises and cuts more from tossing and turning on the rough ground while unconscious. As soon as she could think somewhat clearly again, she tried to sit up to escape the rock's low temperatures that made her body downright shake thanks to its recently growing sensitivity.

Her twisted position, lying on her side, had caused her arms and legs to go to sleep though, so she had to loosen them with careful muscle movements first. The gradually worse pain from the rib she'd sprained in Rohan also made it hard to stir; it made her breathing much too heavy and left her forehead covered in sweat, her face contorted by wrath. She had to get out of here, dammit ... Her chances to free herself were shrinking more with every passing hour. The restraints had numbed her hands too much to untie the knot; under the rope, her wrists were burning from first infections. The unpleasant heaviness from the blows against her head and her dehydration prevented her from properly focusing on the next steps. Arwen had last had a little water before the kidnapping. If she didn't get some more soon, things might possibly look bad for her.

It wasn't like the cave wasn't moist enough, disgustingly so, to be exact. The continuous quiet rush close by indicated the presence of a waterfall but as long as Arwen couldn't even sit up without the world spinning around her, the odds of finding her way there with her eyes blindfolded were very bad. Apparently, she didn't have a choice but to wait for her kidnappers' next move for now.

That first coughs starting to interrupt her breathing made that almost even worse than her injuries did, or the feeling of guilt about what Aragorn was surely going through because of her right now. The very first airway infection of her life was the most recent and the clearest sign that she could no longer rely on the special powers of an elvish body. Now she wasn't even immune to sicknesses that usually befell only members of other free folks anymore. That cold she had caught in her sodden dress without a doubt. The bitter thought crossed Arwen's mind that once they would free her – in the foreseeable future, hopefully –, wedding plans would probably be put on ice again right away because she would have to keep to her bed for a while first.

Steps approaching the entrance of the room she was being trapped in – judging by the echo, hardly bigger than twenty or thirty square feet –, provided her at least with enough energy to finally pick herself up, leaning back against the wall. If she could avoid it, she wouldn't crawl at these pathetic men's feet. "If you still think I'll tell you anything about the King, don't waste your time."

The dryness of her throat partly robbed her voice of her usual strength, but she still didn't let it show with even one syllable that the helpless situation - one that she hadn't ever been in before in all of her long life as a soldier - agitated her. She certainly wouldn't grant these people that triumph. Besides, it was much too early to get upset. There was no doubt that her beloved had already sent out his best men to track her down. She just had to remain stubborn.

The guy standing in front of her didn't seem to understand that yet; in any case, she was being yanked to her feet once more. More weakened by a lack of water and food than she liked already, Arwen had a hard time keeping up with the man's hasty steps. She was more being dragged along by her elbow than walking herself.

The henchman didn't address her, though. That was the job of the man from last time.

"I hope you slept well and had enough time to think about your behavior." The leader knelt down next to her as soon as she was back on the ground, and braced himself firmly on her battered side so she couldn't get up immediately but had to stifle sounds of pain. "Your King really does seem to be quite important to you, seeing as you choose to suffer in beauty for him so passionately."

Arwen used what little strength she had pushed into her arms that had become so immobile in the last few seconds, and rolled to the side, out from under the guy's fist, straightening up on her knees with bared teeth. "Every upright citizen of Gondor in my place would remain just as silent, so you should rather reconsider your plans. This land has waited centuries for its king. All the people are backing him."

"I bet if you asked one or two farmers or soldiers in Arnor, they would have a different story to tell." Her opponent snorted cynically through his nose.

For a moment, Arwen wondered if maybe that was it … if that rebel came maybe from the North. That realm had indeed only expressed the most necessary basic solidarity with Aragorn's newly begun reign so far, by nothing more than a little enthusiastic letter from the biggest city. But the accent didn't match that; that came from this area around here.

"Besides, anyone else's opinion doesn't matter to me. I rather want to know more about the pretty bird that our precious King likes to travel with." The man provocatively caressed her hair, then her stomach, unexpectedly, before she had even really flinched.

With the strength of newly rising anger that now truly knew no limit anymore, Arwen made it to get to her feet, to take two steps backward before she bumped into one of the walls, isolated a lot better than her cell with thick, soft blankets. A change of her position for the worse only at first glance, only for someone who wasn't aware of an elf's experience even with difficult battle situations.

"You touch me one more time, then you don't even need to bother hoping for a quick end by Andúril's blade anymore. Then the Lord of Imladris and his family will personally make sure, you're yearning for such an easy death."

The man had only hoarse laughter to spare for her threats. " _Such_ unfriendly words from the lips of a lady of the court. You seem to be in desperate need of someone teaching you some Gondorian manners."

Her tormentor hadn't even approached her yet when Arwen pushed herself away from the wall with all her strength, using the momentum to knock the man off balance. She even made it to firmly kick him in the side before the second guy, in his complete surprise, made it to get to her and ram her clumsily.

Arwen's chest hit the hefty logs of a fortunately unlit fireplace. For a moment, all she could see was white spots dancing before her eyes from how badly her injured side throbbed. Panting for air, coughing, she tried to straighten up again, but in her growing dizziness, she fell onto her back instead. A more startled than scared scream tore from her sore throat when the cool metal of a blade grazed her belly. After her getting injured at the Black Gate, a feeling far too well-known. For a moment, she was convinced that she had gone too far, that the men had lost patience with her and just wanted to gut her here and now ...

For now, though, it was fortunately only her dress on the receiving end of a gaping tear. Bad enough. "Take your dirty hands off me!"

"Why suddenly so modest?" The leader shoved her back before she could even sit up, on elbows that didn't quite want to support her anymore. "I doubt you're giving your lover so much trouble. Speaking of it, are you just one of the many mistresses that a ruler keeps, or do you have the dubious honor of being the only one in his bed?"

The ongoing provocations drew only hard laughter from Arwen's lips. In her career on battlefields, she had had to listen to orcs, and human henchmen of the Dark Lord as well, telling her worse. As long as she managed to keep such primitive beings at arm's length, such words had long stopped getting to her. You best answered those with innuendos just as lewd anyway.

"Does that bother you? You're starting to disappoint me. Next, you're going to tell me, you just don't like it that the ladies are so fond of the King. Maybe you should try charm instead of armed force next time. I'm sure even you will find a lover then."

Arwen took advantage of her opponent's noticeable surprise about her impassiveness to roll away from him as far as possible once more. But she was immediately grabbed by one of her already battered wrist and pressed into the ground, face-first into the sharp-edged rock this time, which left her with additional abrasions.

"You see, usually I get what I want anyway. You'll realize that soon. Your resistance is entertaining though, I'll have to give you that. I begin to understand why the King has so much fun with you that he even grants you the merits of life in the Citadel."

With one arm pressed against her shoulder blades, the man traced the side of Arwen's neck with his blade where the untreated wound from her kidnapping was located already. "Still, I have no interest in getting acquainted with you closely; I already told you that. I'm really not asking too much, do I? Just tell us about your relationship with that primitive Ranger. Then we'll take you back to our little nice guest room, so you can keep wondering if he deems the pleasures you give him worth saving you."

He withdrew just enough to turn Arwen on her back so that she could breathe again, then the blade was on her throat once more. "Talk. _Now_. Or do you want to risk me having to cheek myself if that primitive knocked you up already?"

"I will have to disappoint your exuberant imagination, unfortunately," Arwen gasped out between coughs that were gradually getting worse. Maybe for the first time since the attack at the city gate, she felt a touch of fear. If she couldn't stall the guy, she might leave this base with injuries far worse than a few light bleedings. "Honorable people of the West value tradition. And the King has more decency in his little finger than all of your people together."

It was the pure irony of fate that due to her war injury, Arwen couldn't even have been pregnant if Aragorn and she had indeed – like they almost had in Imladris after the wedding – ever lost all control of themselves. And that these circumstances might soon even be the reason for a she-elf not becoming the Queen of this country after all, in case Aragorn would decide that he couldn't bring himself to have a child with someone else outside his marriage and rather leave Arwen altogether. Not that Arwen would let these bastards in on any of that.

"You'll understand I have to doubt that, seeing as you have spent so many weeks together with our oh-so-honorable ruler in the wilderness. We don't take any risks about that vagabond being the last one that we need to wipe out, who can claim a throne that hasn't been required in Gondor for eternities anymore. Why do you make this so hard for yourself? Just tell us the truth …" Her kidnapper pressed the dagger a little harder against her bloodstained skin.

When Arwen yanked her head to the side with a hiss because she could feel the wound breaking open again, her tormentor's free hand grabbed her throat and squeezed tight so that now she could hardly pass air through her hurting throat at all anymore. "Apparently don't want it any other way." The guy tore her dress open even further and let her feel the deadly threat of multiply sharpened steel once more, almost lovingly, before he cut her for the first time. So lightly – for now – that it only left a thin rivulet of blood but that was enough to rock Arwen's composure.

After using the short moment of lying still to push as much strength as possible into her muscles, she brought her knee up. The angle was too bad to hit anything but the man's lower back, but that she did so well that now it was he who let out a noise of pain. Letting go of her, he had to brace himself against the wall so he wouldn't fall over.

That had been damn risky; she could just as well have caused the second dagger to pierce her lower belly before she even knew. But luckily for her, the guy seemed to have good reflexes and calm hands.

And the latter was exactly what Arwen had to feel on her again immediately, before she could do more than push herself to her feet, trembling harder from the highly dangerous situation than she wanted to admit even to herself. Again, the relentless grip on her throat; again, the blade – for a moment, she was fully convinced that this insane man would cut her throat for real now.

But then it felt like the noticeably strong built body was being dragged away from her, so unexpectedly that the man dropped his weapon. "What …?"

The guy who had taken Arwen here earlier suddenly seemed to feel remorse. "We need her, don't we? She can't talk if she's dead. I think she says the truth, _now_ at the latest. Elves do cling desperately to their lives."

"What, you have mercy with the King's whore now?" The older man sounded as if he wanted to knock down his colleague next for his thoughtless move. "Very well. Since you two are getting along so well, you're very welcome to make sure yourself that this primitive won't ever be reproducing at all."

Arwen was suddenly even colder than before, realizing that this was far from being over. Driven by even stronger restlessness now, she retreated against the wall again, feverishly considering if she could maybe get away from the men by a swift run while they were debating. Relying on the guys' steps, she thought herself able to assess the cave anatomy well enough by now …

But it was the leader's young accomplice again who protected her before Arwen had decided yet if she should take the high risk of an escape attempt.

" _Then you might as well just kill her_. If we break her, she'll cooperate even less! And many elves die from such things; my grandfather told me that. I'm not in on that; no one said anything about that. Besides, we need all the information she has about the King's chambers if we want our big strike to be successful! She'll start talking at some point, don't worry."

The man only breathed an audible sigh of relief when his leader snorted angrily and hurried off.

"Since you suddenly seem to be our big expert for these pretty, devious bastards, make sure, she does so soon. Or you'll be the one who cuts her throat in the end, I guarantee that."

For long seconds the man hesitated as if he was afraid to touch Arwen after that more than unpleasant scene.

Finally, he pulled himself together and grabbed her elbow again, a lot gentler than before, to guide her back to the much cooler adjoining room.

It took Arwen a lot of effort to not tremble under his sweaty hand even once.

That had been damn close. She could only hope that whoever was looking for her would hurry up.

The two riders leaving Minas Tirith, wrapped in long cloaks despite the rising temperatures, attracted far less attention than expected, so Faramir could go back to the Citadel in relief, to inform the advisor council.

The Princess of Eryn Lasgalen and the unapproachable Imladris elf who had hardly left Aragorn's side since the coronation had vanished as quickly as they had shown up.

Instead, Faramir met the last remaining wedding guest in the courtyard who just seemed to be getting ready to leave, fastening a single bag to the elegant neck of his snow-white horse. Like at every farewell of this kind, Faramir's heart clenched painfully. If there was one person he wished to have by his side as a regular advisor, it was the wizard who'd been one of his closest friends ever since he had been a little child. Unfortunately, there was also no one who came to see him as rarely and unpredictably.

He forced himself to smile and came to stand next to Shadowfax. "Has the wanderer heard the call of freedom again?"

"For centuries, my friend, but the time of retirement in the west has not come yet for me." Gandalf returned his smile with the usual, reserved smirk under his flowing beard.

"I need to try and get to the bottom of the disappearance of Lord Elrond's daughter. So far, she's doing relatively well, I can feel that, and I can usually rely on such feelings. But I'll stay close. Even if this crisis is solved quickly, the next surely isn't far as long as these King's enemies exist. There's much to do still before I can take my leave someday."

"These are _our_ worries though. We've been blocking your road for far too long as it is. I just hope …" Faramir paused because he suddenly felt stupid, like a little boy who was asking for his father. Something Faramir had already given up on early in his life.

And this was a simple truth: Gandalf's job in these realms had been fulfilled since the end of the war. He long deserved his peace in a better place, no matter how much that hurt those he left behind.

When that day came, Faramir wanted to be ready at least. "Will I see you again before you go?"

"How could I just leave my most curious pupil alone?" The wizard laughed quietly and gave Faramir a pat on the back. "That ship in the harbor can wait for me another few years. But you know, Faramir, actually, you don't need me anymore. In the past, I would have seen the despair in your eyes in a moment like this. What I see now is drive. You're the heart of these lands, not only when the King is being drawn far away from here like he is today. Still, before the Undying Lands will call for me one day, we will shake hands for the last good-bye; that I promise you. And until then, there might be one or two common adventures waiting for us that the horizon has not revealed yet."

Faramir stopped himself from asking how Gandalf knew about Aragorn's newest trip. Gandalf knew a lot.

And like they always had, his words healed many wounds in Faramir's soul. One day, hopefully, Éowyn would be able to do that as well, once the two of them could leave the worst images of the war behind. Faramir longed to at least try in return and tell Gandalf before this next separation how much he had done for him. Faramir hadn't even really appreciated that for far too long.

Only when the wizard, Beregond and Pippin had together saved Faramir from following his father into death at the last moment, he had realized that there was no one playing the part of a parent in his life better. But these things, too, Gandalf always knew without the need for them to be said.

So he narrowed that speech down to an honest: "Thank you for everything." They embraced for a moment before Faramir stepped back with a heavy heart and Gandalf got on Shadowfax' bare back.

"If one day, trouble should get too big for you to handle, after all, look west for that's where your wizard will always come from. Even the strongest leaders can't always make it on their own."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed when he stared towards where Aragorn and Legolas had gone to, without even trying to consult him first. "Though sometimes they forget that. I hope, you, at least, will always remember."

"I will," Faramir assured firmly. His father might not have known how important an ally of such strength was – but as long as he had anything to say in this city, the gates would always be open for wizards.

"What did he mean?" Éowyn had heard the last sentences and eyed Faramir questioningly from the side while waving Gandalf good-bye in respect.

"With Gandalf, you can never be entirely sure." Faramir greeted his wife with a fleeting kiss of the hand. "It's still early, beloved. You look tired."

"I was worried. You usually don't leave your chambers so early. May I gather from your sole return from the stables that Aragorn is once more neglecting his duties?"

"Stop talking about him like that," Faramir replied more irritated than intended. The discussion earlier had exhausted him. Éowyn's blunt opinion that was shared by far too many people among the folk, didn’t exactly improve his mood.

"No decision is without flaw, but doing _nothing_ to fight these rebels would be the worst. My offer to ride out myself was rejected so I'll resume leadership of the city once more and make sure, people understand their King's actions."

Éowyn couldn't hide that the harsh tone in his voice hurt her. Her lips a tight line, she turned away. The harmony and joy that had prevailed between them in the evening and the night of their wedding seemed to be gone again already. When Faramir wanted to grab her shoulder in apology, she stepped out of reach so quickly that he felt hardly more than the brush of her bright dress against his skin. "Even if _you_ cannot?"

But to that, Faramir had no answer.

A route that triggered as many – bad – memories as the one from Minas Tirith to North Ithilien, past the hills and fields where some of the worst battles of the war had raged, allowed for little confidence to bud in the heart. Aragorn didn't need to have lived here for years, like Faramir, to sense the big suffering, the fights had caused in this area of formerly so unspoiled beauty. While he had been confronted with the ongoing chaos in Men's settlements on his way to Imladris, now he had to realize that just as much damage had been done right outside his home. It just expressed itself differently, and one often had to take a closer look to spot death, hunger, and barrenness.

Right now though, his thoughts had to revolve mostly around the reason for this trip. After the elves' long farewell – that he had solely been able to tolerate because Tarisilya had saddled Arod right afterwards, so that there had been no delay –, his patience was severely tested once more.

Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, after all, bringing Legolas of all people along with him to where many of his people would be living soon. Again and again, his companion went astray for a bit or slowed Arod down because something in a distant forest area seemed to have caught his attention. At least he always made sure to not be in Aragorn's way and quickly caught up with him again every time.

Unlike Tercelborne though, Arod didn't have any Mearh-blood in him. In the war, the brave, bright stallion had always quickly taken Legolas – and Gimli as well – to wherever they had been needed. But in a contest against the horse that Aragorn had under his saddle today, he soon had to surrender.

After they had to learn from Faramir's second scouting party, that was on its way home, that these men indeed hadn't found any hints at all about the kidnappers either, Aragorn tried to push his friend on, like on the search for Merry and Pippin back then, to encourage him gently but firmly to ask a little more of his mount. That would have been easier if the elf hadn't unnecessarily demanded so much of the animal earlier. Aragorn couldn't help but wonder why Legolas had run so eagerly for half an eternity on their hunt for orcs, without a break, but now when it was about someone they both cared a lot for, seemed to never have heard of anxiety.

"On a day of all days when a life might depend on every minute, could you please stop getting distracted?"

Legolas seemed honestly surprised by his hostile remark. A disapproving wrinkle between his brows, he turned his head to him. "Please mind your words. I just don't want to miss anything that can possibly help us. So far, we haven't found anything more than the Rangers; we have to pay more attention to detail. Without a specific clue, it might take days or even longer, cutting uselessly across such woods and exploring caves like these."

"Then we will take the time. I definitely won't go back empty-handed like Faramir's people. I didn't ask you to come along as you know. If you don't like my way of hunting, you're welcome to ride back." As if to emphasize his words, Aragorn's dug his heels into Tercelborne's sides, switching to a light seat to get the stallion to stretch to a full gallop.

He knew he wasn't being easy to deal with right now, but that _was_ the very reason, he had tried to steal away furtively at the dawn of day. This stubborn irritation took hold of him whenever he was focusing on an aim. It wasn't for nothing that he was known as the best tracker of this century or that Mithrandir once had tasked him with that Gollum-thing. Long nights without sleep, endless days without any rest, and having only the most necessary food was normal for him. In the past, he had stressed his body past its limits for weeks more than once. It was this perfectionism, almost bordering on zealotry, it was that always taken him the farthest.

And if there was anyone likely to keep up with that, it was an elf. So in spite of everything, Aragorn was relieved to see Arod's small silhouette show up next to him again from the corner of his eyes. "Forgive me. I'm always happy when you help me, you should know that. But I understand that you can't just forget what you left behind in the city earlier. Both Ilya and you have been trying to solve my problems for far too long already. That needs to stop. Once we brought Arwen home safely, It will be my pleasure to personally come here with the two of you, so we can check what the war has left of Ithilien together. But for now, something else holds my interest."

"It's no different for me, so stop trying to get rid of me." Legolas tried hard, but he couldn't fully ban the offense from his usually so melodic voice.

"That I can't ignore how everything in this area is screaming from the wounds that Sauron's creatures tore in this ground, doesn't change that. In all my long life I've rarely laid eyes on a place where nature was more off-balance. Trees and rivers here are still poisoned. That has an effect not to be underestimated on men in these lands too, and all the way down to the city no less. There are enough dissatisfied people there already, don't you think? My people and I will help as much as we can so that the drinking water and the harvest won't get endangered even more than they already are. But it's very likely that no one can do anything about the death of countless creatures and even of whole species."

"I can understand your worry and I share it, but right now I can see a single advantage in this situation. On dead grass, you can see tracks longer that would have long been wiped out anywhere else. What our enemies' carefulness might hide from us, the animals still populating Ithilien in spite of all difficulties may know." A glimmer of hope helped Aragorn relax his completely tense shoulders a little.

He reluctantly sat back down in the saddle when Tercelborne's loud snort, the foam at his mouth, reminded him that on fast hunts, even Mearas needed a little rest every now and then. "I for one won't rest until I know where Arwen has been taken to. These men have already shown what they're capable of. Every inch the sun wanders further west shows me that time is slipping through my fingers. We can just split up if you prefer that …"

Now a growl made it past Legolas' tightly shut lips. "So no one bothers you while you torture yourself into unconsciousness? I'm only trying to keep the calm that you have lost. My eyes are searching every inch of the ground just like yours. Why are you always so adamant about having to do all your duties alone?"

"Maybe because I have _been_ alone my whole life. There was never anyone who could have carried my burdens for me. Even my closest friends were too busy with their own worries most of the time. In the loneliness, nothing protected me better than my independence. It's hard to lose such habits overnight."

Aragorn didn't wait for an answer but went faster again. He could feel Legolas' eyes on him from behind, but right now, he had to ignore what was written in them.

Legolas had brought this painful matter up himself, in the middle of a crisis that actually left no room for such emotionality. Now he had to live with the confessions coming with that, too.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick reminder especially for the people new on this ride (you know who you are and I love you a little <3): The character making his comeback in this chapter is Thondrar, Glorfindel's second-in-command in Imladris' army. He was around first in series part #1; there, he accompanied Tarisilya home to Lórien after that disastrous summer in Imladris where Erestor and her had their catastrophic little flirt. Thondrar was also part of the rescue team when Legolas and Aragorn were taken by a bunch of Haradrim around T.A. 3000. Glorfindel and Thondrar are not on great terms, mildly put, and Thondrar has been meaning to get away from Imladris for a while now. Which is why Glorfindel asked Legolas in series part #4 to accept Thondrar as his second-in-command in the new canonical elf settlement at Cair Andros.

The next few hours passed in silence. At last, nightfall was upon Aragorn and Legolas and it became clear that there was no chance of returning to Minas Tirith for the moment. Which didn't exactly improve Legolas' mood that had been extremely lousy since their fight as it was.

Since the kidnappers' footprints were lost now - in spite of the keen observation by elvish eyes that in the end, Aragorn had been quite thankful for, after all - all they had left was a search in regions most likable to host a shelter. Mostly caves like those that the Rangers of Ithilien did prefer, too. To get there though, the two of them had to leave the cover of the trees and then would be exposed to possible attacks from any hill and mountaintop. Which was, without a doubt, exactly the plan of the Stewardaides who had had to expect that the King would personally come, or they wouldn't have chosen his beloved of all people as their victim.

"Let's leave the horses," Legolas proposed. "It's better to move slowly than to encounter an ambush."

"Which we probably will either way. These people will be waiting for us already." Nevertheless, Aragorn dismounted and led Tercelborne along for the moment.

"Without them, we'll be more inconspicuous, that's true. But if we find Arwen, every second might count. Both options have disadvantages." He sighed in irritation but nodded. "I've been meaning to go on trails soon that horses can't use anyway."

"We still could … Wait."

In spite of the growing darkness, Aragorn thought to see Legolas suddenly turning very pale. He dismounted as well and left Arod standing there, the reins wrapped around the saddle-horn, to run towarsd a place deep in the undergrowth. "Go on, I'll find you again in a minute."

Aragorn was tempted to obey for a moment. Nothing had changed about his hurry.

But he was fully aware that he had hurt his friend earlier and was feeling sorry for that by now; so he followed him. A few minutes give or take wouldn't make a difference now. Not as long as the kidnapper needed Arwen as a bargaining chip.

When he heard the elf utter a few unusually filthy curses in Sindarin, he was already anticipating the worst. He paused in concern when he saw Legolas kneel over a dead animal with tears in his eyes.

The carcass had been ripped apart by claws and teeth so badly that at first sight, it was hard to tell what this had once been. Upon approaching, Aragorn could make out the dainty, longish muzzle of a wild dog.

It was no wonder he hadn't recognized it immediately. Usually, these animals had an inconspicuously dark coat color, just like the wolves that they were being closely related to. This one wasn't just large for its kind but had initially been snow-white … Now it was stained red all over.

"Wargs." Legolas pointed at the numerous characteristic wounds and rested a trembling hand upon the animal's blood-smeared head. "What in the blazes are wargs doing in Ithilien? They're not even native here! And Faramir never mentioned them!"

"Probably a few scattered ones from the battles that have been busy breeding since the war," Aragorn replied quietly. One more problem in these lands that truly had enough of them already.

"I will not suffer these beasts here." Legolas' other hand turned into a tense fist. "These primitive savages just destroy _everything_. This was a queen, a miracle of nature that only occurs once in a hundred years. She's surely made these woods safe for years already. Now one more innocent being has fallen victim to Sauron's sinister deeds."

"She probably fell defending her territory. Even the most precious of their kind aren't immune to the darkness. This shows us once more how urgently our help is needed here. As long as creatures of the light are being killed, the two of us won't rest." Aragorn eyed the animal with a regretful shake of his head.

"Come on, please. Try to find comfort in things changing as soon as your kin will live here."

In spite of his shock, Legolas got up without objection. Aragorn felt more and more ashamed for attacking him earlier.

"The worst is that she just gave birth." He nodded down once more, at the dog's belly that showed several swollen teats. "I wish at least the offspring was left, to give the others of their pack hope. But she would never have left the little ones alone. The wargs surely got their teeth on them as well."

Indeed, once they were on their way back to the path, Aragorn spotted without surprise a whelp's lifeless, likewise snow-white body hidden under some bushes. The little one had probably tried to find shelter there, in vain. With a last disheartened look back though, he unexpectedly made out a tiny movement under the mother's cadaver.

Gasping, he hurried back and lifted the stiff body whereupon pointed teeth were feebly buried in his hand. "Not all of them, mellon." Carefully, he lifted the cub that was covered in the bitch's blood, murmuring a few words in Sindarin, with a small smile. He traced a fingertip over the animal's muzzle and up to its forehead.

The little one immediately stopped struggling and started whimpering pitifully instead.

"He's too young and too weak to survive alone already," Aragorn realized. At least for a few seconds, it was him now, not thinking solely about his biggest worry. In this case, Arwen probably wouldn't have been angry with him. "He can't find food yet. We better take him with us."

"A young animal on a hunt?" Legolas looked close to reminding Aragorn who had been in such a hurry earlier. "He's been laying under his dead mother for hours. Not to mention that we have nothing to use to take care of him: He won't be able to overcome that shock. You're only prolonging his suffering."

"Giving up so easily on a life that you've just been grieving for?"

One eyebrow arched in challenge, Aragorn reached for his water bottle to start by freeing the dog from the bloodstains, while finally aiming his steps back towards the horses.

Black fur was quickly revealed, with large, white dots on the muzzle, all around the right eye, on the chest, under the belly, and on the paws. Taking a closer look, Aragorn realized that the whelp had piercing blue eyes. The dog shook himself reluctantly to get rid of the water and kept on whining until he got a hold of Aragorn's finger and sucked on it a little.

"He's hungry." Seeing Legolas' looking vaguely hopefully now but still staring at the dead dog behind them very skeptically, he added: "He doesn't necessarily have to suckle. Many farmers feed a mixture of fruit and water when they have a litter. Maybe that saves the little one until we're back in Minas Tirith and can give him a bowl of milk. In the meantime, start unsaddling and get from the bags whatever we will need."

Aragorn sat the dog down next to Tercelborne who curiously lowered his head right away to sniff at the little one.

The dog didn't think that too pleasant though. Bracing its little paws against the ground, it tried to growl at the horse which still sounded quite thin though.

Aragorn watched the scene with a grin while getting a few berries from his supplies. In a little bowl that he usually used to chop healing herbs, he crushed the fruit and blended a paste. Kneeling down next to the whelp, he dipped a finger into the bowl and reached it out to the animal.

After a moment of cautious snooping, the dog licked the mixture off greedily. As soon as the jar stood on the ground, he put his muzzle in it and started to gulp the food down as hastily as he could, despite his visible weakness.

"I thank you for your foresight once more. I hope he's as tough as he looks."

Legolas signaled Arod with a light pat and a simple order in Sindarin that he was allowed to explore the area on his own for a while but should stay close.

"I'll be back in a moment. Just to the hills over there," he answered before Aragorn had even asked, pointing north. "I'll have a view over the whole area there. With a bit of luck, I'll spot something in the last light. You can always rely on an elf's swift legs and sharp eyes, even when you'd actually rather want to work alone." No, their argument wasn't forgotten yet.

"Can I come with you and try to undo the words I uttered in anger?" In spite of Aragorn's harsh tone, it surely showed in his slumped shoulders and his downward glance how helpless he felt, that he frantically tried to find some kind of support. His reproaches had been the consequence of lifelong frustration and this day's tension, nothing more. He at least wanted to dare try to apologize. To prevent this sudden wall between them from still standing when they would return.

"Not now, to be honest. That would only distract us both even more. We'll talk when we get back," Legolas said in rejection. "It seems we've done that far too seldom recently, seeing as you're blaming someone who followed you through ice and fire in the war to never have stood by you. And that's my fault, too; I've neglected our friendship. I won't keep on doing that now when one of our group needs our united strength more than ever. Arwen's wellbeing is far too important for me for that, too."

Without waiting for an answer, he looked for a way to get through the thick undergrowth and to the said hill.

Aragorn silently watched Legolas leave until his shape blurred in the dusk. Then he pulled himself together and went to look after Tercelborne, to make sure that the stallion was doing well after the hard ride. He didn't want another being to suffer from his erratic deeds. It was bad enough that he'd made it to damage something within moments that had helped carry a friendship existing for decades. He could only hope that this rift could be quickly bridged.

_There aren't many people I learned to hate in my long life, Steward. Immortal beings are very careful with such strong feelings. But if someone brings that hate upon themselves, it burns deeply and inerasably._

Cold words, still echoing in Faramir's head when the short conversation with Tarisilya in the morning had long been over. He'd just wanted to make sure, the obvious feud between the King's secret advisor and Legolas' wife wouldn't cause too conspicuous trouble at the court, but he'd been confronted with a rejection he had never sensed in a Firstborn before.

All the more surprised was he about the unexpected company he later had at a visit in the Houses of Healing, in young Ninor's room. He'd actually just meant to assure the boy's parents that they'd receive further help, and promptly became a witness of healing similar to the one he'd experienced first-hand by Aragorn.

It was hard to believe that the same person that would probably have made orcs flee with her words a few hours ago, was calming this despaired child's mind by nothing but her presence by his bedside, easing all pain from his bad burns with feather-light touches.

"Her Highness of Eryn Lasgalen is just wonderful, isn't she?" From his remote corner, Ninor's father commented on Faramir's amazement when the patient reached out his small hand to Tarisilya, quite agitatedly still, and traced the pointed shape of her ear with his fingertip. "I swear, she can do magic. Without her, we wouldn't know what to do. She gave our child hope. He can even see a little again."

"Brego!" Ninor proudly reached out a small stuffed horse to Faramir, the auburn color of which did indeed remind him a little of the King's horse. "Il-ya! Brego!"

"Her Highness will talk to the King so that Ninor will be allowed to take care of Brego a little … _if_ he's being a good boy now and gets well soon," the exhausted, gaunt-looking man explained. "You have to make sure, she stays in Minas Tirith, Steward. This she-elf is a gift of the Valar to Men."

" _Stay_!", Ninor cooed in support, too, with his still quite choked voice. But talking too much visibly hurt him in his badly damaged face; he sobbed quietly and only calmed down again when Tarisilya wrapped his bandaged arm a little tighter around the toy in it and tenderly rested her lips on his forehead for a few seconds.

"I can't tell anyone where to live," Faramir answered admonishingly.

"But depending on the King's opinion thereon, I can assure you that the Houses of Healing will welcome her Highness with open arms whenever she wants to support us with her unique gift." The last sentences were meant for Tarisilya, too.

"An elf's path can change surprisingly and quickly."

Shaking off her concentration, Tarisilya said good-bye to her patient for the day who gifted her with a last weak smile.

"But I do know that the healers here are in need of teachings and assistance, especially so shortly after the war. When my abilities are needed, I help gladly; that was never different. In the foreseeable future, my home will be the same as yours though, Steward. So I cannot tell for how long I can stay here."

"I'm sure I'm speaking for the residents of Gondor too when I say that for such arts, people will gladly make the journey to North Ithilien." Faramir returned her friendly manner, relieved that she didn't seem angry about him meddling with her private matters anymore. "From what I'm seeing here, I'm glad, in any case, that you and your husband will dwell close to this city in the future."

At the mention of Legolas, Tarisilya's face darkened immediately, and Faramir got a vague suspicion about why she had been staying in these houses nonstop today of all days. Just like Éowyn, she, too, suffered from the decisions of a partner who was always forced to put duty before her needs.

He better memorized that grief on the she-elf's face well and should recall more frequently that Éowyn must feel the same whenever he entered their chambers only late at night or not at all.

"Allow me to invite you for dinner," he offered once they had left the sickroom. "I don't want you to be so alone on your begetting day. The hobbits would be delighted as well."

"I very much appreciate it, Steward, but it's not only my husband who has duties to fulfill." Tarisilya showed the hint of a bow. "At his visit, Lord Elrond had already brought several elves here who want to move to the woods of North Ithilien with us and who offered their help with the city's reconstruction. And another group from Imladris arrived this morning. There's much to talk about and to plan as you can surely imagine. So 'alone' is hardly the word I would use."

Faramir did his best to bite back another inquiry about the subject repulsing her so much.

These elf meetings in their own temporary accommodations on the fifth level were always attended by Erestor, too, for him to keep playing his role as the leader of this still quite loose faction. A farce existing mostly for the residents of Minas Tirith, so that Aragorn's enemies didn't find another breeding ground for sedition because Firstborn supposedly tried to interfere with realm government functions. These two so very hostile persons in the tightest of spaces, together for hours?

"The offer remains open, in case you …"

Verilas showing up in the yard of the Houses of Healing interrupted him.

"Steward!" The grey-haired, short man reached out one of the hated parchments to him that had been throwing Minas Tirith into turmoil for weeks. "They handed out new ones! It's getting worse and worse. This time, they fuel people's fears by pointing out the security gaps."

"Which was to be expected. Gather the others. My chambers, in ten minutes."

Faramir wished, Prince Imrahil was in Minas Tirith, but he, understandably, was needed in Dol Amroth. And now he couldn't count on Gandalf's support anymore either. This time, it would be up to him alone to lead the little fruitful discussions about an invisible danger growing bigger and bigger.

So much for the idea of dinner.

"The moon is hiding behind the clouds, milady. Your search for it is in vain."

After hours of heated debates, Tarisilya actually wanted to be alone on the elf accommodations' balcony. But she had either not shut the door demonstratively or loudly enough or Thondrar simply couldn't care less. While initially, she had been just as glad as Legolas about one of Lord Elrond's best fighters agreeing to help him lead the planned settlement, she hadn't been prepared for the warrior suddenly up here earlier without notice, together with the others.

Thondrar had bled in battles before Legolas had even handled his very first bow, she knew and respected that, of course. And she thought to have a pretty good idea why he was throwing himself headfirst into things here, though his strong hands would still have been very much needed for the border security in Imladris as well. The elf who often still seemed quite brash for his age had insisted firmly on being allowed to accompany the four of them back to Gondor after the wedding. A proposal that both Elrond and Glorfindel had refused, pointing out Thondrar's other duties. There was little doubt that Thondrar now was blaming himself unreasonably for not being there when these Uruk-hai had attacked Arwen and Tarisilya. It was always hard for a soldier to stomach, thinking they had failed.

That was where her knowledge about Thondrar ended though, and that always created some inevitable distance. Even a few centuries ago, when Thondrar had safely taken Tarisilya from Imladris back to Lórien once, they had hardly talked. Admittedly, in said weeks, she had been very busy dealing with her own issues … But except for some impressed admiration about him not sleeping for even a single minute on this journey - though back then Middle-earth hadn't been remotely as dangerous as later this Age -, nothing much had stuck with her. She knew basically nothing about him and hadn’t managed to change anything about that so far. He was being far too uncommunicative for that, and even Elrond kept no one's roots a secret as adamantly as Thondrar's.

Unfortunately that elf, on his part, seemed just as stubborn with certain words that you really didn't want to hear, as with his bow and sword. And he'd seen too many millennia to let himself be put off.

"My eyes were not searching." Tarisilya took a gruff look back, never stopping to rub her shoulder as her muscles were protesting after so many efforts of her hands today. Most recently when taking notes about the meeting earlier, before a still quite young but extremely enthusiastic elf from Eryn Lasgalen named Avrelas had offered to do it for her.

Right now, it was she who had enough of talking for the day. "The moon has long lost its shine for me."

"I've heard about that." With relaxed composure that an outsider wouldn't necessarily have expected from a warrior with Thondrar's reputation, he folded his hands in the sleeves of his dark purple tunic. In spite of the blackness of the unlit balcony, his bright eyes followed Tarisilya every second, but his body showed no hint of the restlessness that filled Tarisilya. Though the news of Arwen's kidnapping grieved him just as much as the other elves, it didn't throw him off balance half as much.

While he would naturally have loved to follow Aragorn and Legolas, that would have been difficult, having no clue where they were and having just very rudimentary knowledge of this area. As soon as the sun came up, Thondrar would ride out with the next group of Faramir's Rangers to continue the search; Tarisilya was really grateful for that. If he rested a little until then though, in the guest chambers assigned to him, she wouldn't complain …

"And it's been stirring worry in me for a while now. Can someone who rejects so firmly what has always given them strength, just because of a temporary separation from their family, carry the burden of regency?"

"It's my husband who will have the leadership of the settlement, as you should be aware." So much casual condescension, no matter how friendly it sounded, made it hard not to lose her head.

Legolas was a lot older than Tarisilya too, but he had never given her the feeling that this made her inferior or that he was trying to balance her lack of experience with the millennia of his life. She'd never had to be afraid that he was looking down on her and meant to lecture her.

Thondrar just did exactly that, and that caused dislike before the two of them had even started living in the same place.

"And what he has, you have, milady. You need to realize that. Denying yourself the stars' support will rob you of more strength than you had to muster up at the end of the war." Thondrar grabbed her chin for a moment to force her lowered head up but let go of her immediately when she stiffened, signaling him how much she hated it when people just touched her.

"Forgive me. I'm not trying to be insolent. It's just hard to ignore how much you're missing your husband. And I'm afraid, this is something you'll have to get used to for now, especially in the upcoming years. If you don't learn how to handle being alone, it will create strife between the two of you. The elves on Middle-earth already lost their evening star. Don't let them now look with grief at a connection like your wedding that promised so much hope."

He meant well, and his words moved Tarisilya, but they couldn't cast out the coldness that the farewell from her father and her brothers had once left in her soul. Since then, the moon just couldn't awake the same inspiration and energy in her anymore. Only the wish to not have to look at it anymore in these realms. A yearning that she wouldn't be able to satisfy for a long time to come. This was not something she wanted to be reminded of.

"Maybe someone renouncing his own past shouldn't judge these things," she answered coldly, with a short gesture to Thondrar's hood that he hardly ever took off. The safest way to end a conversation with him immediately.

"Who says I'm renouncing anything?" To her surprise, he didn't lose his smile for even a moment. "It's far gone, that's all. It's in other realms, in a different time, partly in another life. It's _this_ world and _this_ present that needs me. Where I'm coming from is of no interest to that. My father has a big name, Your Highness. He doesn't want me to live in its shadow or bathe in its light."

Tarisilya had to try hard not to startle back, given the deep pain suddenly shining in Thondrar's eyes. In spite of all initial difficulties … Apparently, Legolas' decision to accept this elf as his advisor and substitute had been a good one after all.

Thondrar proved a kind of loyalty to his masters that she had rarely witnessed in the past, probably only in Haldir. Thondrar was even worrying so much about her, before even a single of the settlement's pillars stood, that he was revealing something about himself that surely few people knew, just to build the first necessary trust.

No matter how distant the new life in North Ithilien still felt, due to the rash planning and the execution dragging on so much in turn: For the first time, Tarisilya felt real security regarding this project that brightened this long night a little.

"Your victories are well known far beyond Imladris. I don't think you need to make use of _anybody's_ name. Your father could probably trade on yours instead."

"Not yet." Thondrar laughed quietly. "But someday. Then my quest here is fulfilled, and I can follow the others into the light of the Valar. Until then, milady, I'm here for you anytime. Remember that."

Tarisilya gifted him with an honest smile and dismissed him with a short gesture.

A moment later, she cursed herself for it.

Because Thondrar vacated the spot for another visitor. One whose presence she had even fewer nerves for today than usual.

She demonstratively turned to the railing, showing Erestor clearly that he was supposed to leave – without realizing, consciously, that she was acting like a leader, a Princess for the second time this evening. A role that she had felt little ready for till recently started to influence her whole behavior more and more.

Fortunately, she had been sharing a table with the Lórien leaders early in her life. For almost 1,000 years, her father, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had taught her etiquette. Actually, without a special aim back then, safe for the occasional trip to Imladris as an Ambassador of Lórien. It had been just an addition to her other interests. Now, she benefited from this hard training.

Unfortunately, Erestor wasn't someone impressed by titles as even Elrond had to accept, again and again. "Ilya." His arms crossed behind his back, he stopped behind her instead of approaching further, accepting her wish for distance.

Not nearly enough distance. "Leave me alone." Tarisilya noticed in dismay that her voice was trembling, more with anger than with sadness, but she couldn't deny the latter either. The day had just been too long.

Erestor pretended to not have heard her. She knew better, hearing it in details like the rustling of his sleeves when he lowered his hands in annoyance or the quiet hiss when he drew a frustrated breath. Curious. You couldn't throw someone off balance that easily whose stoic indifference was just as notorious as Thondrar's. Elrond apparently must have threatened Erestor if he had _seriously_ planned to make amends with her.

"Given that you've long been meaning to leave these realms behind, you spoke very convincingly in there. I don’t quite know yet what to think about your plans in Ithilien, but the elves at least are coming to trust you two more and more."

"Convincingly?" she asked in exaggerated surprise. "That’s an improvement over _immature, impulsive, naive, and uncouth_ , right? Yes, I should really be proud of myself."

"You remember that so well?" If she was making him seriously angry, he didn't let it show. On the contrary; now he actually came to stand beside her and regarded her with a lenient smile that she would have loved to wipe off his face with a slap.

Erestor made people around him always feel quite clearly that he was more literate than many others, thereby creating a kind of elevated abyss to his environment that many didn't even feel like crossing … And Tarisilya had certainly already given up on that a few centuries ago.

Even though by now she could believe him that it had been a long while since he'd had any kind of inappropriate feelings about her: Ever since their argument back then, she had never felt the wish for a close acquaintance with him. She didn't even need to summon the past for that. And then his appearance … His black tunic and the black leather pants matched this cloudy night quite well. Wasn't it bad enough that there were enough images of dark creatures with weapons in their hands floating around in people's heads? It was a miracle that no child at the court had started to have nightmares about this eccentric lunatic yet.

"It seems that one has to watch their mouth well around you."

"Why don't you save yourself the effort and simply stop talking to me? Whatever it is that you want from me, you're very welcome to tell my husband once he's back." Tarisilya just left him standing there.

In spite of his feeling his eyes on her, she managed to keep an upright posture.

The elves' voices still discussing excitedly in the common room prevented Tarisilya from hearing Erestor's sad words that otherwise might have torn down a piece of that impenetrable wall between them. "I just wanted to wish you a happy begetting day, Ilya."

"Well, that worked splendidly," an amused voice behind him let out.

"Said Middle-earth's leading expert on reconciling with old demons." Erestor didn't allow himself to get irritated. It was embarrassing enough that he almost had a minute ago.

Thondrar leaned against the doorframe, feigning a disinterested, one-sided shrug. "It was never _me_ longing for reconciliation. I've only been looking for a home back then."

"That you left behind now." It wasn't a question, not even provocation on his part. Thondrar and Erestor had never been too keen on each other, but they usually tried at least to not be mutually hostile; they better kept that up while they had residences in close proximity to each other.

The other elf getting into regular conflict with Glorfindel, his direct supervisor, that Erestor had to mediate in then, was bad enough. And even less pleasant since said supervisor and Erestor ended up in the same bed every once in a while, in spite of all their good intentions regarding the required clarification of a certain relationship status first. He probably should be glad that this energy-sapping situation had finally come to an end, with Thondrar's departure from Imladris happening so hastily now after all. But he found, without surprise, that the memory of a home that wouldn't be his for much longer either as it was, hurt more than it should.

"Imladris soon won't be a shelter for _any_ elf anymore," Thondrar retorted as if he'd read his mind. "I didn't want to wait around for that to happen."

"Why linger then at all? To cut a few last orc's throats? Don't be ridiculous." Erestor shook his head with a snort. It just didn't make sense; he hadn't been able to wrap his head around this from the start. And for Thondrar's father, it would have been easier, if he'd retreated right to a place where he couldn't have been physically reached anymore either, at least not in the foreseeable future.

"If you only meant to escape: The west offers more chances for that."

"Not an escape." Thondrar's always so melancholic eyes fleetingly turned towards his new-old woods. "I love this land, in spite of all the pain that looking at it still causes. Before we all leave here forever, I want to say good-bye."

"Will you allow _him_ to say good-bye?" Erestor asked, without hope that the answer would be different this time than in the thousands of conversations they'd already had.

Thondrar's soft features hardened promptly. "Why should I? He had no interest in that back then either."

"Back then, he couldn't." It sounded lamer than ever; Erestor heard it himself. He'd just been wasting far too many of his rhetoric abilities already on preventing Aragorn's regency from blowing up in his face in the first few weeks already. There wasn't patience left in him right now for a millennia-old quarrel. _That_ was what was so bad about this assignment here: that he would have been much needed somewhere else right now, more than ever before.

He should never have let himself be persuaded to come here.

"His excuses have been making me sick long enough. Hearing you repeat them now instead doesn't make it better." Thondrar turned away, his jaw clenching.

"He's fine, by the way, if that makes you feel better. At least as long as Lord Elrond keeps his wine cellar locked. Stop worrying about our lives and do your job here instead, so you can go back to Imladris. You can put your brains to better use there than by keeping on getting on the nerves of some adolescent Princesses here."

"I'm sorry, I don't speak _bitter warlord_. Was that a compliment?"

Thondrar didn't deem it necessary to answer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another couple of quick reminders, since it's been a hot minute since series part #1 to #3 went online, so not all of my wonderful readers here might know:
> 
> In this chapter, Aragorn is referring in his POV to an incident called the Haradrim Imladris Ambush. After a celebration of the turn of the millennium of Men in Imladris in T.A. 3000, Aragorn and Legolas were taken prisoner by a group of Haradrim close to Imladris. In a hard fall in that battle, Legolas has hit his head pretty badly which left him temporarily blind. With the help of Elladan and Elrohir, Tarisilya was able to remedy that condition back then; on the evening of her and Legolas' wedding in Imladris though, he did reveal to her that the problems come back sometimes.
> 
> Arwen and that Stewardaid on the other hand have a little throwback to the end of the war in the next scene. As you might recall, Arwen (in this case, her movie-version) left Imladris to ride to Gondor and support Aragorn in battle, just having recovered from her weakness after becoming mortal. Arwen was injured gravely at Mordor, and Aragorn spent long hours saving her life. In the same night, in that canonical sick camp at Cair Andros, Tarisilya needed the help of Aragorn's healing hands. After originally deciding to go west with her brother during the war, following their father, Tarisilya changed her mind in the last second and decided to come look for Legolas in Gondor instead. Weakened by several years and especially months of depression after her father had sailed though, and torn by being unable to decide where she wanted to live, Tarisilya almost faded, and it took both of Aragorn's and Legolas' strength and love to prevent that.

The sound was so quiet that Aragorn first didn't even notice it consciously. Only when Arod suddenly broke forth from the bushes behind him and ran towards the caves that were Legolas' and Aragorn's next target, he realized, there had been a very quiet, high-pitched whistle in the air for a moment.

Cursing in his head, he picked up the whelp and tucked it into one of his empty bags so that the animal's head was sticking out of it. Not wasting any time with saddling up again, he steered Tercelborne through the close-set trees as quickly as possible. If Legolas suddenly wanted them to proceed entirely separately, he should have told him at least; then Aragorn wouldn't have waited here in the first place. Whatever it was that had happened, Aragorn didn't want to have to ride after Arod first to find out.

He saw his friend standing at the edge of a small ledge, in front of a cave, and tied Tercelborne to a tree that Arod was waiting by already, then hurried up the path to Legolas who was staring into the distance in concentration. "What is it? _Valar_ , why didn't you say something?"

"I thought, maybe I could catch up with them. I could barely make out the last light of their torches. If I'd let you know first, it would have taken even longer."

For another few long seconds, Legolas looked to where the enemies had vanished, then he pointed at the entrance. "Apparently, they knew we were coming. It can't be chance they left only minutes before our arrival, and in quite a haste, too."

"Then we don't need to hide anymore either."

Aragorn ran back to the edge of the trees and quickly collected some wood that he used to spark a fire, near the base. Two thick logs, coated in resin, that they'd brought as a precaution, provided the necessary light.

They swiftly searched the halls reaching far into the mountain, not finding anything but left-behind supplies and traces of a large group though. Fast and unseen, the enemies had managed to disappear through one of the cave tunnels, leading to the back of a waterfall.

Almost … They'd almost got to them. In this case, _almost_ wasn't enough.

It was Legolas then who found the small room that Arwen had been kept in and knelt down in its middle, his fingertips placed on the rough rock.

Following suit, Aragorn felt a shudder creep through him. It was almost as if the walls had absorbed the salt of tears and were now echoing it. The delicate smell of blood in the air just supported the effect.

Ignoring his companion's shocked expression, he started at the ground as if petrified.

These bloodstains, just like the ones he'd found in a room nearby, confirmed the worries that had been haunted them both all day already. "They will pay for this." Aragorn's growled words didn't sound like a mere threat. They were a statement. With his jaw firmly thrust forward, he straightened up, eyeing Legolas questioningly. "Anything else?"

Legolas briefly shook his head and led the way outside.

"We _may_ have found them." In spite of Legolas' explanation earlier, Aragorn didn't agree with his approach; he kept on wondering if their search would maybe have been at the end already if he'd just been here a few moments earlier. Now he knew for certain that they had already lost far too much time and that Arwen was suffering.

"Why don't we discuss later why these people are always one step ahead of us? Or wonder when we have forgotten how to work as a team?" Legolas' irritated tone revealed that a few minutes of thinking hadn't been enough to forget what had been standing between them since the morning.

He cut off Aragorn's answer with a gesture of his hand so sharp that Aragorn felt reminded of their first common battle when any common base for them had seemed impossible. And just like back then, Legolas had a good reason to shut him up, as he heard something in the distance and needed complete silence to classify it. Only it didn't quite work this time. "A … falcon."

"At this time? Strange, indeed." When they stepped outside the cave, Aragorn searched the air immediately but making out the shape of a bird in the overcast night sky was impossible. "They don't hunt at night."

"Maybe I was wrong. It probably doesn't mean anything." Sure, they had witnessed it often enough in the war that the powers of evil liked to misuse simple-minded animals for their own ends and had often used birds, especially, as spies. But actually, these organized creatures, controlled by curses, couldn't be active months after Sauron's destruction anymore, no matter how sick nature was in this area.

"Let's go. At least we have a direction now."

But after just a few feet, Legolas stopped again, and this time, he reached for his bow immediately. The tiredness in his body turned to caution and lethal tension from one second to another. " _Now_ we're in trouble."

That was when Aragorn heard the growling of wargs close by as well. With a practiced move, he unstrapped the simple bow that he was always carrying on his back when he was on the hunt. "It was to be expected that they would show up at some point. They're scenting the horses. I'd hoped we find Arwen before they get hungry again." Taking a new log from the fire, he followed Legolas back down to the path.

Even as he was running off, Legolas nocked an arrow. In his eyes, there was not only determination but especially a kind of frightening hate that in the war, he hadn't even often regarded Sauron's creatures with. In the light of his excellent fighting skills, sometimes it was easy to forget, but just like his father, Legolas was first and foremost a passionate wood-elf, to whom nothing was as important as nature and its beauty. Demonic creatures like wargs roused even deeper anger in him than a few misguided men who might learn and be won over someday.

Accordingly, there was no hesitation in him when Aragorn and he saw a whole pack of wargs surround their horses – baring their teeth and ready for the murderous jump.

Three of the animals died immediately, and Legolas was already aiming again. The next shot wasn't as lucky. Another warg did fall, pierced by an arrow before he had even noticed the attackers. Two more jumped aside in time though, so that only of them got lightly hurt and the second one not at all.

The one that been able to escape turned around on strong legs in a flash. His sly eyes fixated on his enemies, he took a long leap towards Aragorn – proof of his primitive intelligence. He knew that he was no match for arrows, unlike for a close combat weapon.

He was being greeted with a twisted grin though. Aragorn hurled his torch at the warg's paws with so much accuracy that sparks started to smolder on them and the animal jumped back with a howl. The retreat didn't do it any good. With Aragorn's hand now being free, he had already reached for the quiver on his back. The first arrow pierced the warg's side, another his throat so that it collapsed with a rattle.

Aragorn wanted to reach for another missile but in the meantime, three of the remaining wargs had surrounded him, their lips pulled back threateningly.

He targeted the animal right in front of him and slowly let his hand wander to the handle of his sword, in a way that the enemies wouldn't see. When the warg began his jump, Aragorn made it to throw himself to the side at the last moment. A painful jerk went through his body when he fell on his shoulder and rolled away. While getting up, he tore Andúril from its scabbard and grabbed the torch again.

His world suddenly seemed to be made up of nothing but swift movements, yellowish eyes, and teeth. Dodging backward, he rammed the torch in a spot where he suspected an animal eye to be, as hard as he could. The nauseating smell of burned flesh and fur filled the air.

The warg's scream threatened to render him deaf. Mad with pain, the animal snapped at everything within reach and reared up. One hit of its bulky head sent Aragorn to the ground. Its teeth got hold of his arm which now had Aragorn yell in turn.

A quick stroke of his blade cut the warg's throat. He pushed the animal off of him in disgust when a torrent of dark blood poured down on him. Precious seconds were being lost that he needed to wipe the stuff from his eyes before he got back to his feet. He braced himself to fend off the next attack, but it never came.

The other wargs edged him away from the torch instead, and from his bow that he had had to drop. Aragorn was surrounded once more, haunted by angry barking that sounded like delightful, gloating laughter.

Now he could only draw his dagger and try to react to as many attacks as possible at the same time.

Before Legolas could help his friend, the last two wargs leaped at him while the injured one drooled as he hobbled around the comparatively defenseless horses. By now, the animals knew that they were facing a dangerous weapon and approached him with jumps so unpredictable that a true aim wasn't possible, not given the speed of these cruel hunters.

Legolas saved himself with a long somersault upwards to the steep wall of rock, clinging to a protruding stone to buy some time. Before he could climb higher to find a spot to shoot, his way was shut.

The pack leader approached him from behind. He shouted something to the other two in the simple language of his kind, a snarling intelligible only to orcs. One thing, Legolas could easily hear in it though: the sadistic pleasure that the situation was giving the creature.

The others could have easily come after Legolas. Instead, they crouched at the bottom of the hill and made sure that he couldn't go back without being hit.

Legolas didn't have the advantage of claw-studded legs and couldn't use his arrows without slipping and landing right before the beasts' mouths. Besides, he had to keep an eye on all three of them, or one of them would strike immediately. Reluctantly putting away his bow as it was useless right now, he grabbed one of his daggers with his free hand and threw it at the leader so quickly that he couldn't entirely dodge but suffered a hit to his side.

A blood-curdling roar sounded far beyond the widths of the area, containing little pain and a lot of wild anger instead. The warg yanked the weapon from his flesh by the raw power of his teeth and sent it flying out of reach.

Every game being forgotten, he wanted to come at Legolas but flinched when he saw him reaching to his back again. For seconds the animal stared at him without making any sound, trembling with aggression. He knew exactly that Legolas would be out of weapons soon and allowed himself a moment of standstill.

His gaze turned to Aragorn and the wargs that had already fallen victim to his sword. With a brief bark, he stopped the animals that wanted to rush to his aid.

Legolas understood. A mirthless smile curled on his lips. Straightening up as far as he could, he presented his second blade to the warg, just in case he would get any other stupid ideas. "You are not welcome here, creatures of the shadow. Leave while you can. This is my only warning. You will be granted no mercy."

The next bark was _definitely_ loud laughter. Again, the leader spoke to the wargs whereupon they retreated to the woods that they'd come from.

Then he dragged himself up the hill with an estimating look back over his shoulder. Casually dipping one paw in an almost jet back pond that had surely been a bright, fresh stream before the war, he splashed a mix of this smelly water and the pebbles and sand on its bottom on Legolas.

_I will be back._

Seconds later, the rest of the pack had vanished into the night.

Cursing at the top of his voice, Aragorn tore a piece of fabric from his cloak, his beloved grey cloak from Lórien that carried many patched pieces of this kind already, and tied off his arm. Reaching for his water bottle, he tilted his head back and held it above his face.

Only when the worst traces of the warg blood were washed away, he looked for Legolas and did his best to bite back a grin. "I remember you looking more glorious after battles before."

Since the expected comment about his own appearance never came, Aragorn went to see to the horses in confusion while also treating his arm as best as he could.

Legolas didn't look like something was seriously wrong with him. And no matter how proud the elf often was, he wouldn't thoughtlessly keep the two of them from their quest like Aragorn had accused him of it so inconsiderately earlier.

A few minutes later though, he had to back, after all, to discreetly point it out to Legolas that they had to carry on. "Are you alright?" Since his friend was still not coming down from his elevated spot but wasn't busy anymore either, getting dirt off of his skin with water from his own supplies, Aragorn started to worry.

"All the filth of Mordor has been spread in Ithilien's water in the last few decades." Legolas was talking so quietly that Aragorn almost couldn't understand him. He was still crouching on the slope, though he could long have been standing on safe ground again, with his head lowered and his eyes closed.

Actually, they'd already had the discussion about this land's problems. Aragorn didn't want to have to admonish Legolas again. Or was this about something else entirely?

"Are you injured?" Frowning, he raised the torch and shone it at Legolas. Useless. Too dark to make out himself if the actually harmless attack had damaged anything, maybe chemically burned something …

"Legolas? _I'm talking to you_."

"It's nothing." Finally, Legolas opened his eyes again, slowly, blinking a few times as if he had to clear a blurred image.

And only now, a dark suspicion struck Aragorn, along with another all but pleasant memory of their first common battle, of how he had been convinced that he would lose the elf to his bad injures … or that he would at least never be able to see again.

"It just hurt for a moment. If the animals here are drinking this poison, it's not surprising that we've seen so few on our way here."

"Let me see."

Aragorn wanted to go to him, but Legolas jumped down to join him instead, simply ignoring the proposal.

"It's passed. We should follow the enemies' tracks before these go cold, too."

Legolas' dismissive voice had Aragorn hesitate. Something inside of him wanted to rear up, to warn him that there was something important, he was supposed to find out right now and was about to miss the clue.

"Aragorn. The tracks. If we're unlucky, the wargs might smudge it."

That this possibility existed indeed, did direct Aragorn's thoughts back towards the target of their search now as well. But the dissent that had already prevailed all day, just hurt even more now. "If you hadn't been sitting there for an eternity, we would already be on our way, master elf."

A guilty startle was the only reaction. If Legolas had an explanation for his behavior earlier, he apparently didn't feel like revealing it any more than the details of his condition.

Continuing their hunt, they proceeded in silence once more.

Regardless of how unpleasant this whole thing here was, Arwen had been filled with the vague confidence that it would be over soon for a few minutes now. There had to be a reason for the Stewardaides fleeing to a new hideout with her. Someone was closing in on them. She would be freed soon.

At least that was what she was holding on to since she had been rudely shoved into a corner of these new accommodations, down on a few old bags smelling wretched of spoilt food. She hadn't been lying there for long, breathing as shallow and calmly as possible through the ongoing pain in her side and trying to catch as much of what the men were discussing in excitement as possible before she was being pulled up again.

This time, she only had to be led a few steps forward before she was facing the man from earlier again.

"You should consider yourself lucky, Lady Arwen. Apparently, you're even more important to the King than we thought. That fool has actually left the city for you. He's in the woods with another member of your unspeakable folk." The Stewardaides leader walked around her slyly, probably hoping for a reaction that her motionless expression still didn't grant him.

The man couldn't know the wave of emotion his words had stirred in Arwen. She had been right then. _Soon_ …

"I hope you're aware that this also means, we don't have much time left to plan our further steps." Mock-regret sounded through the man's voice as he came to stand right in front of her, the tip of his dagger resting in the hollow between her collarbones once more. "If you keep that stubbornness up, it will be the end of you. We can't drag useless burdens around. If you're being good, we could just leave you here, and he'd surely find you. It could be so easy."

"You're wasting your breath." Arwen didn't feel like provoking these people much further. She was simply too exhausted for that by now, and her cough was gradually growing worse. Also, a fever had started to make her limbs heavy. She had to focus on hanging on more than ever now.

Her kidnapper didn't give up yet though, noticeably angrier with every minute of not getting what he wanted. Asking the same questions over and over he started to lose his temper and scream at Arwen with increasing frequency. Every now and then, he grabbed her hair so tightly that one or two wisps being torn out left bloody traces in her scalp, or cut another wound – painful but never too deep – on her arms or her belly.

Arwen's grim efforts to keep standing straight and to not make even the smallest sound of pain, quickly had her lose her sense of time. It could have been minutes that the man spent asking her about the King's chambers, his daily habits, and possibilities to head him off when he was alone; it might have been an hour just as well.

At some point, the man was hoarse from yelling. As he brutally pushed against Arwen's chest, she fell once more and landed unluckily on her immobilized arms so that her elbow was twisted too far.

"I really tried but you leave me no choice."

The coldness of the dagger grazed her throat once more while she was still trying to catch her breath. Her blood froze in her veins immediately. Not now of all times … She only had stall these people a little more, until Aragorn and Legolas would find her …

"True. One thing you cannot be blamed for is a lack of endurance. Too bad you're wasting your talent like that."

"Flattery, really? I expected more of you." With the dagger's tip, the Stewardaid traced the wounds he'd already inflicted on her, grinning audibly.

"I'm sure you heard the howling outside, didn't you? These are not simple wolves like the ones that your valley's incapable warriors hunt for sports. Wargs are much greedier and crueler. And this pack that lost most of its members in the war, is even more aggressive than others." Without a warning, he left another deep cut sideways across Arwen's shoulder which had her hiss for air.

"They can scent blood for miles. Right now they're surely busy with your friends, but wargs are clever. They won't just let themselves be slaughtered. A few of them will flee and keep on hunting. If you don't start talking right now, I'll leave you in the woods tied up like this, with a few more of these pretty wounds. It won't take long until these monsters will show up to still their hunger. When they're done, your beloved King can bury what they leave behind."

In spite of the new hot throb in her arm, Arwen tugged on her bonds and tried to make her words sound as convincingly as possible. The guy couldn't know that he was playing into her hands, and she certainly wouldn't make him notice. Let him plunge her down the next available hill. Outdoors and without armed enemies all around her, Arwen wouldn't need more than five minutes to free herself. Squirrel teeth would untie her bonds, big cats would shield her body from possible attackers until she was back on her feet. If she acted the part of the helpless damsel for a few humiliating minutes, she would hopefully get out of this thing without any further major damage.

"Don't you _get_ it? I've been at the court for far too short a time. Even if I wanted to tell you anything, I couldn't."

Her torturer got up with a snort. "Then you just proved for good how useless you are. The King left the city. That's more than we'd hoped for already. Enjoy the last time you have before we get rid of you."

The guy apparently took his whole group with him when he retired to an adjacent room, one so far away from here no less, that Arwen couldn't eavesdrop on them anymore now.

Carefully sitting up, using her healthy side, she let herself sink back against the next wall, breathing heavily, with her knees drawn close to her body. In her head, she tried her best to brace herself when quiet steps revealed that one man was returning.

It was the one who had refused to torture her as well, easy to make out from the way, he was slightly dragging his left leg behind him.

Arwen already started on a snide remark when a hand was carefully put over her mouth.

"Don't, or they'll hear you. And then it's too late for both of us!" Clear tension resonated in the young man's whisper. He sounded haunted, scared.

So the guy wasn't even allowed to be with her. She could hear that his hands were trembling when he opened a bottle. He held it to her lips, giving her something to drink for the first time since her kidnapping had begun.

Since his behavior gave her no reason to suspect, he wanted to pour something harmful down her throat, she didn't resist; besides, she urgently needed the refreshment for whatever it was that would come next. Fortunately, the water did indeed seem to be completely alright.

Only when the young man was certain that she had had enough, he closed the seal again.

"I'm very sorry for how they are treating you. You must believe me. They never mentioned anything like that. They only said they wanted to interrogate you. Please don't make this even worse. Your elvish friend, Lord Legolas … He's fought so bravely by our side at the Black Gate. He saved so many soldiers with his arrows … I saw it with my own two eyes how much he cares for his allies. He surely wouldn't want anything happening to you, just because you are resisting so much."

"No, he certainly wouldn't want his best friend tied up, tortured, and killed," Arwen snapped at the man. "He wouldn't want me to become a traitor against our King and my beloved either, though. You better do not speak his name in my presence again." Arwen was very tempted to kick the coward firmly, but she had to save her strength.

"Of course not! That's not what I meant …" Her helper tried to calm her down with quickly stuttered words so they wouldn't be overheard by anyone after all. "I appreciate elves very much, I do …"

"And is that supposed to excuse your deeds? To make me feel better?"

"No, of course not." The man had trouble expressing what he was trying to tell her. "I didn't know it would be like that. The Stewardaides only ever spoke about how everything would be better soon. And of justified revenge. Many of us lost family and friends after the Battle at the Black Gate. And many believe that the King could have saved them if he hadn't left with y… But they never announced that they would be doing something like that to _you_. I always told them, I wouldn't be part of this if they harmed Firstborn. I owe your people far too much for that …"

Arwen could downright feel the man's eyes wander over her injuries; she couldn't stop shaking her head.

"And the life of a simple woman would have been worth any less, is that what you want to tell me? Apart from that: Did you seriously think they'd just let their victim go if they didn't comply, no matter who they took? Und even though it shouldn't even be necessary in the first place that someone told you that: The King and I only left Gondor once there was no one left in the camp of Cair Andros that His Majesty's hands could have saved. Even the night when he was fighting for my life, he always had the healers give him updates, so he could be sure that he didn't have to go help someone else. Maybe you should tell the others that for a change at your next campfire."

"As if they would believe me. I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"That won't stop your friends from trying to get rid of me." Arwen turned her head away to signal the man that she wanted him to leave. She wouldn't ease his guilty conscience.

Maybe he would actually remember this conversation once she would hopefully be back in Minas Tirith, and do some serious contemplation. Then this whole thing would at least have been good for something.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick reminder (I reckon these will get more frequent as the whole puzzle of this series slowly comes together): Aragorn and Legolas are referencing an incident right after the Battle of Helm's Deep in this chapter which was subject of part #2 of the series. Legolas was assaulted and badly hurt by two Dunlendings right after that fight. Tarisilya and her twin brother, originally on their way west at that point, rode to Helm's Deep when Tarisilya felt that something was very wrong, and Tarisilya healed some of Legolas' injuries, mostly his soul though.

"What is it that brings a dwarf out on to the streets of Minas Tirith so late at night?"

" _Elves_! Can't you people make noises like every normal being?" Gimli startled and turned around, a scolding on his lips.

The exaggerated offense in his expression turned into real irritation at once when he saw Tarisilya. The two of them sadly hadn't been able to have an actual conversation so far, but by now, Tarisilya was being well-known at the court of Minas Tirith. The dwarf looked her over with an unintelligible murmur, her dark robe and the bright dress below, the number of red stains that the streetlights revealed. "Her Highness is seeing patients?" The dislike in Gimli's deep, rough voice confused Tarisilya more by the syllable. Actually, the Ring Companion had been described to her mostly as resourceful support for Men during the reconstruction.

"In this case, it's the patient's parents I went to see." Pulling back her hood, Tarisilya looked up to the lit windows of the timeworn, wooden two-story house, she'd just left. "I hope they'll hurry. And me, I can't linger either, as much as I'd hate to miss the chance to talk to you. Will you accompany me to the Houses of Healing?"

Gimli didn't show a lot of enthusiasm but agreed with a short shrug. "The boy from the fire attack?" His curiosity was stronger than that palpable, dull anger he was additionally expressing by the distance that he kept to Tarisilya.

Tarisilya nodded uneasily. "Ninor's condition has suddenly turned highly critical again. Actually, I thought, he was finally out of the woods; but he's had such bad dreams today that he developed a high fever. He's being in terrible pain once more."

The only answer was another grunt that had her look down at Gimli in growing confusion. She was tempted to just kneel down, to be able to look him in the eyes. The way he had his red-haired head lowered and was staring at the almost deserted street, she couldn’t tell why he was acting like this.

"Is there something troubling you?" She knew how close Legolas was to this one special Companion and that he'd missed him very much on their journey to Imladris. Maybe she could do something for him.

"Everything's alright. Everything is fine." With exaggerated force, Gimli straightened the many layers of his dark felt clothes as if her gaze made him uncomfortable. "Nothing that Her Highness of Eryn Lasgalen needs to bother with."

That oozing sarcasm just upset Tarisilya more. So far, she had never been met with rejection because of the title she had acquired by her wedding and the Decree that her father-in-law had subsequently issued. The elves were far too happy that the millennia-old dispute between Lórien and Eryn Lasgalen was finally resolved for that. Gimli almost gave her the feeling that she had done something wrong, marrying Legolas.

She tried it another way. "My husband always talks so much about you, Master Gimli. He is happy that he can be close to you again. I'm sure once you're living in Aglarond and we live in Ithilien, we'll find many opportunities to meet."

"I doubt it." Gimli sounded only gloomier. "I have no idea how well you know your husband but my experience with that elf is that he's very quick to erase commitments like that from his memory. It seems, there's no room for short-lived friendship in the existence of a Firstborn. Don't bother, Your Highness. I'm sure, your work in Ithilien will keep you too busy for neighborly relations. Dwarves and Elves apparently just can't get along forever."

Tarisilya was dumbstruck. This couldn't possibly be the same dwarf that Legolas was always regarding with so many affectionate words. Was this all that was left of the friendship that Dwarves and Elves were singing cheerful songs about so shortly after the war already, praising how their folks were finally growing closer? "Please, Lord Gimli, wait."

When the other moved to hurry his steps, trying to leave her alone, she knelt down in front of him after all. "That you're feeling this way pains me deeply. I can assure you that my husband doesn't even know. If he would, he'd have long come to see you."

"With all due respect, Your Highness, but _that_ is something, I highly doubt." Gimli tiredly braced himself on his ax and let his eyes roam afar. "I'm tired after all the work I did today. There's still much to take care of in this city until it will be safe. Excuse me."

"But …" The open anger on Gimli's face directed straight at her, now that she was being so close to him, had Tarisilya's heart clench. She should have known.

_Legolas_ should have known. This bond was still far too loose to neglect it the way Legolas had by taking this trip west instead of helping out around here or start the journeys with Gimli that he had promised him. For an elf who measured time entirely differently, this was but a delay, but it had obviously hurt Gimli deeply.

"Really, it was not his intention …"

"Good night, Your Highness." Gimli didn't even let her speak but passed her by, again with quite a bit of distance, and left her standing there to vanish in the shadows.

"The Lord of the Glittering Caves doesn't behave like the High-Born Lady wishes him to, does he?" A malicious, half-drunk voice from a few feet away frightened Tarisilya. "Good to know that at least the Dwarves haven't fallen for elvish sweet-talk like our precious King."

Her jaw tight, Tarisilya straightened up and carried on, approaching the man. If he thought that he could get to her, he'd soon get closely acquainted with the anger of a she-elf. Besides, she wanted to see his face. Maybe it was one of the rebels.

"Are you too much of a coward to say that to my face?" she asked in challenge as the small, stocky shape immediately withdrew into a house entrance. "If you dare to utter things like that only in the protection of the dark, you should contemplate the truth in your words."

" _Elves_! You all think you're so unbelievably clever and superior! You think you can lead other Folks by their noses, huh? The one thing you _can't_ do is actually be useful for a country for once."

It was the second time tonight that Tarisilya heard someone say the name of her kin in contempt. Not in jest this time though, like Gimli had earlier, but with so much honest loathing that a cold shiver ran down her spine. Especially because that voice had come from behind and sounded far soberer than the first one. The man wasn't alone.

Her posture stiffened instinctively, but she didn't stop, not yet.

Thanks to the security measures that Aragorn had arranged, the streets had always been well-guarded lately, and even more since Arwen's kidnapping. If these men would try to give her trouble, a soldier would come to defend her sooner than they'd even realize.

"If you hate my people so much, shouldn't you be happy that we're going?" she asked as calmly as possible, trying in vain to find the emotional distance that Legolas displayed in such situations; that always allowed him to keep a steady hand in fights as well. While this wasn't exactly a fight – not _yet_ , a thought that she suppressed with a shudder … Losing control still wasn't a good idea. If only there hadn't been happening so much today already that had robbed her mind of its serenity, dampening her sense …

"It's the deeds of Men that are partly responsible for us leaving our common world. It's really not necessary to put the blame for that on us on top of that." She didn't manage to take a look at the first man when she passed him by; he wasn't standing in enough light for that. She should turn around, try at least to memorize the face of the other one, but quickly growing fear was choking her. If these guys had maybe not only come to talk, in a completely empty side-street like this, she was defenseless until help came …

No panicking. The gate of the sixth level wasn't far; there would definitely be guards standing _there_.

" _Our_ world." The first man laughed loudly. "You hear that? _Our_ world, she says! So where were the elves when Sauron's troops almost destroyed Minas Tirith? Where were they when our people fell by the hundreds in Mordor? What did _you_ do to make the war end?" The scorn mixed with honest rage.

As soon as Tarisilya was in front of him, the man left his hiding place and followed her.

Unnerved by the stupid game for good, Tarisilya abruptly turned around.

She looked into the round faces, swollen up from alcohol, of simple workers who had probably never touched a sword in their lives. No matter if these men belonged to the active King's enemies or not, these people's poison had already influenced them sufficiently, that much was for sure.

"Where were we? At the first front. You should be happy and grateful that the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen led the troops by the King's side, or this city would lay in ruins. And Gondor would still be waiting for the return of the King, given it wasn't in Sauron's chains already."

"No one asked us if we wanted a King." Suddenly, there were more steps and another voice more, coming from behind again. Additional ones approached from the side.

Her heart racing in her chest, Tarisilya found that she had been surrounded without even noticing. The bewilderment that there were seriously some citizens who were so blinded had distracted her. What her father had always warned her about when they'd rode to settlements of Men on their big journey through Middle-earth back, suddenly seemed to become cruel reality. The guys came closer and closer, sporting superior, sadistic grins.

Her hand instinctively wandered to her belt, to the handle of her brand-new dagger. But what was she supposed to do with that? Striking lucky and taking out a single, unprepared Uruk-hai was completely different from eliminating a whole group at once. That she was physically stronger than a man didn't make any difference since she was hopelessly outnumbered and didn't want to kill anyone.

Especially given this night's alarming development regarding her recent patient, she couldn't risk that easily. That it suddenly looked like she couldn't rely on her healing powers like she'd used to after all, after one single kill out of self-defense, was enough of a lesson.

And there was something else worrying her. If these really weren't major enemies but citizens impressed by a few whispered words and tattered parchment, who gathered in such large groups … Then the danger had already spread further than people in the Citadel thought. She had to warn Faramir, and Aragorn, as soon as he got back, together with one of her best friends, hopefully. For that, she had to get off this damn street first though.

"Stay back!" She did her best to sound commanding but that had somehow worked a lot better in the meeting in the evening. The hand on her dagger was trembling.

"So rude, Your Highness?" One man reached out for her, only laughing even louder when she flinched, running straight into another one who yanked her arms behind her back and held her tight whereupon the cloud that was the smell of wine on his breath almost made her retch.

"You don't send your patients away, do you? Does a simple citizen not deserve the same treatment?"

"If the simple citizen doesn't want a special treatment by my ax, he takes his dirty paws off Her Highness immediately."

The sound of Gimli's voice at the end of the street had the men scatter immediately. The man behind Tarisilya pushed her away from him roughly and ran off with his friends as quickly as he could.

Gimli didn't dream of pursuing them but leaned over Tarisilya. "Did they hurt you?"

"Only my pride." She happily let him help her up, squeezing his shoulder gratefully. "I … Thank you. Why did you come back?"

"Because the effect of too much ale has lessened and I remembered my manners. Other folks often like to forget that, but Dwarves have those too." He shifted from one foot to another in embarrassment. "You don't just leave a woman standing there. Come on. The Steward has to learn about this."

Tarisilya just nodded. She sensed that Gimli still didn't like her very much. In his eyes, it had to look like she was responsible for Legolas neglecting him so much which wasn't even wrong, in fact. It was up to Legolas to settle this with him. She could only try to gain the friendship of Gimli whom she'd just become just as fond of as of Aragorn.

"I wish I would have gone with Legolas. A few of these people are really dangerous." She looked up at the sky in sadness, turning towards where Legolas and Aragorn were being right now, searching for someone for whom it was maybe too late already. A thought that immediately tried to elicit tears. Frantically trying to distract herself all day couldn't wipe it out that maybe one of her closest friends would never be there for her again with her wise words and her passionate character.

"Nothing will happen to him," Gimli remarked lightly. "He's come back unhurt from almost every battle so far, hasn't he?"

"Exactly. _Almost_. So we better hope that we can deal with Aragorn's enemies for good soon."

"As if that was so easy. You clearly haven't spent the last months on these streets," Gimli replied through his teeth. "You can never underestimate these people; you should just have noticed that. That's a mistake that Aragorn should stop making, too."

"Believe me, Lord Gimli …" Shivering, Tarisilya thought back on the anger in Aragorn's eyes this morning. The worry about someone who was more important to him than anyone else. "He knows that now."

After a few feet, she put on the hood of her cloak again, regarding Gimli's sad expression with a bitter smile.

Aragorn was once more about to lose patience. They were getting _so_ close!

Their enemies' tracks led farther and farther into the mountains of North Ithilien. It didn't take a practiced hunter to follow them. Aragorn knew that Faramir and his people had once had a base here but not exactly where – ironic enough, given whom Aragorn was looking for here. Were there maybe even members of Faramir's people among his enemies?

No. He immediately wiped away that thought. Not Rangers. Absolutely impossible.

But then, suddenly, the track split into two trails in a narrow section of a valley. One stopped right in front of a cliff, the other changed course and led into the woods, along a continuously narrow path. After they had combed the immediate surroundings for the second time to try and make out which track was the real one, they had to face the fact that the enemies had split up into two equally large groups.

They had even arranged for signs that both units could have taken Arwen with them, seeing as blood could be found in prints on both sides. Arwen's blood, as Legolas' keen scent confirmed. The enemies obviously wanted Aragorn and Legolas to split up before they would face them. They were dealing with very skilled warriors indeed, and high treason was no longer impossible.

"They found the only thing that unhinges a Dúnadan." Aragorn kicked away a rock fragment in frustration and tilted his head back with his eyes closed.

And now? In a battle against a bigger group, Legolas and he had been relying on each other's strengths for decades. Aragorn trusted the sharp senses of an elf warning them from approaching danger, and Legolas trusted Aragorn's advantages in a close combat fight, his cover.

"Don't even think about it. It would be the stupidest thing to fall for this trap."

The consolation he half and half expected never came; Aragorn's new little friend in his saddlebag was the only one who gave a quiet, solidary bark. A sound that fortunately sounded a lot stronger than earlier already.

Legolas had dropped down on a boulder a few feet away, staring absently at the sky where the day was coming to an end at last. When the moon fought its way out from behind the clouds almost at the same time, as if it had hidden from his charge in Minas Tirith the whole time, Legolas tilted his head back against the almost vertical cliff and closed his eyes.

First, Aragorn wanted to ignore him since Legolas apparently didn't want to confide in him about anything anyway. But even when it came to his most stubborn friends, he couldn't just turn off his protective instinct.

With a deep sigh, he sat down on a tree trunk close by. "Can you manage to not blame me for my inconsiderate words from today for a moment? Right now, I'm missing the strength to try and figure out first what the reason for your grief is. And we don't have any time for it either."

"I'm not angry with you, Aragorn. We both were tense and negligent. I'm just trying to clean my mind. Maybe then I can feel which direction we have to follow. Arwen and I don't have that kind of deep connection that exists between Ilya and me especially since our wedding if we concentrate on it properly, but it's there to some extent. To be able to concentrate though, first I have to get rid of what is weighing down on my soul. I just wish I knew _how_. Since Rohan, it feels like nothing changed for the better. As if all the suffering in the war was for nothing."

Aragorn couldn't remember when he had last seen Legolas so overwhelmed. Even when Tarisilya had been on the brink of death after the Battle of the Black Gate, there had still been a small amount of energy left in him, even though it had been only been enough for guilt, self-hate, and arguing. Now Legolas suddenly looked as if he would never be able to get up from that rock again. The thing with the baby had indeed been the final nail in the coffin for his soul that had already been so shattered since Helm's Deep at the latest.

"When I asked Ilya to marry me, her father blamed me for putting her heart in chains, so that she would be able to be parted from her family. Never have I felt the truth of his words so clearly. I thought I couldn't make it through the war without her. I bound her to me and then left her alone for almost twenty years, a few meetings at the edge of the woods aside. It's easy to hind behind duty to ease your conscience. Ilya's heart is too pure for her to blame me, but I always failed her, even today. I'm doing the same thing to her that I always hated so much about my father." His words came faster, more upset with every syllable until he had to pause, out of breath.

"It's often in the nature of our duty to hog us when actually, we have something entirely else to do," Aragorn answered cautiously. He wasn't sure how much advice Legolas was able to accept right now. But for what he was doing here right now – opening up completely, against his nature, only to help Arwen and him –, Aragorn wanted to try at least and give something back.

"You are not your father. Nothing against the King of Eryn Lasgalen, but your mother was probably the only one able to melt the ice in his eyes for some time. _He_ fails everyone since he never meets anyone without distance. You on the other hand are giving Ilya what she's yearning for most. Or she wouldn't have waited for you for so long."

"I wish she was _only_ waiting. She keeps on getting herself into danger because of me. She even rode through the very shadows of Isengard, just to free my soul from the blackness of death." Legolas' hand was on his right shoulder, with unwitting, massaging movements when an old pain flared up, from a scar that Aragorn knew only too well.

That Legolas was never talking about it, probably not even with Tarisilya, didn't mean Aragorn had forgotten what had almost carried off another member of the Fellowship of the Ring, when the battle against Saruman's troops had actually already been over. But delving into that would have meant, Legolas wouldn't have been of any use to him for the rest of the hunt which his friend would never have allowed; so he remained silent.

"And what did I do since they took from her the first real hope for a better life after the war? Now I'm even leaving her alone in a foreign city, on a day when I actually should be trying to make her look forward." A tremble going through Legolas' narrow upper body revealed that he was fighting tears. "I'm not helping her one bit. I should finally send her to her family until I'll turn my back on this world. She doesn't deserve a life of waiting."

"She had that chance already, more than once. She would have left if she really wanted to." A hint of harshness entered Aragorn's voice. "An elf can't be kept, not even with all the love you have when the gulls in the harbor are screaming for them. Ask ada. Apparently, you must have done something right, because Tarisilya keeps on standing by you. She could have ridden from Rohan straight into the west. Instead, she came here with you though there isn't even a finished home waiting for her here. Think about that before you just want to give up a love for many decades that can survive even things like that."

When Legolas looked up, there was finally no anger in his eyes left. It had been replaced by weak hope and gratitude. But they didn't stay there for long either once his senses turned back to their immediate surroundings; he jumped up unexpectedly.

"We're not alone."

Instead of turning around, Aragorn followed Legolas' look from the corner of his eyes. There was someone, somewhere in the thick undergrowth. With a gesture of his hand invisible to that someone, he signaled Legolas to remain calm and nodded at his bow. "You must be mistaken. These criminals surely wouldn't be stupid enough to stay here when we're so close on their heels."

Another gesture had Legolas grab an arrow within split seconds. Nocking it, he shot at a spot right next to the bush where the noise of nervous breathing was coming from.

Before the frightened scream from their watcher even came, Aragorn had jumped up. He firmly grabbed the man by the collar and tugged him out of the scrub. With his dagger put to his throat, he forced the man back to the cliff where he could easily hold him tight.

Grinning, he eyed the enemy who could only just have reached manhood. "Apparently, I was mistaken. They're recruiting children. They must be stupid _and_ despaired."

After Legolas had faithfully collected his arrow, he came to stand next to him. The trembling of the boy who did really seem quite small and helpless compared to them made it hard for him to bite back a laugh. One could almost feel sorry for the kid. "What do you think? Should we take revenge for the bloodstains on the way? Or do we just tie him up and get him later so you can judge him back in the city?"

" _No_!" The young man stared at the blade shining in the moonlight in panic. " _Please_! I want to help!"

"Who's to say you're not lying? So far, your people did nothing to deserve my trust." Aragorn increased the pressure of his weapon a little more and earned another choked scream.

"You have to believe me, please! Or Lady Arwen will die soon!"

"Why do you suddenly care about that? What is your name, anyway?"

Legolas' eyes quickly searched the edge of the woods; he listened towards there repeatedly to make out if there were possibly more enemies close by, but no one could be seen.

"They call me Ryscfin. I swear, I never wanted the she-elf to get hurt. But now …" Aragorn's dark expression and that the weapon was still resting on his skin had Ryscfin fall silent for a moment.

"I know you from the Battle at the Black Gate, Lord Legolas. One of your arrows saved my brother. And we're all only alive because of His Majesty. I remembered that now; I should never have let them tell me different. I can't make it up to you two after all that the Stewardaides did already; I know that. So I'm trying to do right by your she-elf-friend." He gasped in surprise when the dagger was taken away.

In spite of Legolas' doubtful expression, Aragorn put his weapon away. "He might have made a mistake, but no one lies about things like a life debt."

He took a closer look at Ryscfin, at the black hair, the narrow face, the quite slender stature. He could still see the fear in the bright, slightly asymmetrical eyes. "Where are the others? How is Lady Arwen?"

"In a cave about a mile east from here. After the first men had made the climb, they pulled the elven maid up with ropes. She's injured but not very badly, it's mostly some cuts. They actually meant to maroon her in the woods, tied up, but they haven't yet. I don't know why." Ryscfin spoke quieter with every word because the growing anger in Aragorn's eyes intimidated him again.

"They probably haven't noticed yet that I'm gone. If you hurry, you'll hopefully get there in time. There's a hidden entry. Go around the mountain a bit, headed west. That one is just guarded by two men."

"Let's go." The collapse threatening Legolas earlier already seemed to be forgotten again, or he'd suppressed it so well that it didn't influence his behavior anymore. It was exactly that distance to his emotions that he'd already built up in the war to leave behind the burdens of previous battles and focus on the next ones.

An ability that Aragorn sometimes envied him for, of which he now knew though how burdensome it could be if it pushed the essentials to the background.

Nodding silently, he hurried towards Tercelborne. "You stay here, Ryscfin. Light a fire."

"Here? But why …?"

" _You'll do as you're told_." Aragorn had to keep telling himself that the man was helping them, only to shut it out that Ryscfin had also allowed for Arwen to be tortured. "From the distance, your companions will believe that Legolas and I are resting here. And it keeps the wargs away from you. Here." He thrust the whelp into Ryscfin's hand. "Take care of him. You should pray to the Valar that Lady Arwen will be with us when we return. Otherwise, you'll be wishing you were back with your friends."

Without another word, Aragorn came to stand next to Legolas whose eyes were inspecting every inch of the cliff.

It must be hard even for an elf to make out details in the dark, but finally, he found the spot where scratch marks showed that the Stewardaides had climbed it.

Aragorn only understood the satisfied grin on his friend's face though when Legolas took a cleanly rolled-up rope from his belt, with a small barbed hook on its end. "I had a feeling, we might need that. From Lady Galadriel. A rope like that has already helped our Hobbit friends across difficult stretches of their path. Let's allow ourselves the same luxury."

He let the rope dangle loosely in his hand a few times and then threw it towards the said ledge with all of his strength. From his doubtful frown, Aragorn gathered that he wasn't entirely sure he'd hit. But the mysterious magic surrounding elves and their environment didn't exclude this special gift. The rope tensed and stood the first endurance test without a problem.

"Kings go first." Legolas threw the end of the rope that there wasn't much left of at Aragorn.

"How gracious, _Your Highness_."

Aragorn shot a last warning glance at Ryscfin before he started to pull himself up. They finally had an exact destination. Now, all that mattered was reaching it as quickly as possible.


	11. Chapter 11

Aragorn's arm was unfortunately still hurting from the warg bite which reduced the speed of his climb as it kept sending new waves of pain up to his shoulder. The tremors, comparatively minor but still noticeable, that Legolas' movements right below him produced, were an additional burden.

When after endlessly seeming minutes, they reached a path sloping downwards, leading to said side entrance, Aragorn immediately spotted the two guards there and signaled behind him.

Legolas wormed past him deftly, his bow already in his hand. Hit without any sound by deadly shots to their throats, the first enemies this night fell. That had been necessary of course; being just injured, these people would have alerted the others without a doubt. Still, Legolas couldn't bear looking at them when the men slumped down. No matter how often you did it, it just didn't get easier. Especially when you were facing enemies who weren't evil to the bone, unlike so many creatures of Mordor, but had only gone astray, like Ryscfin. Such moments always reminded you clearly of the finality of killing.

Aragorn knelt down next to the men who were wearing rags of linen full of holes, eying their faces expressionlessly for a few seconds. Not only guilt but relief filled him as well. "These are not city guards. No one from the court either." At least so far, none of the persons actually responsible for the King's safety, of the persons he was _forced_ to trust, seemed to be traitors.

While Legolas ran ahead, into the cave, Aragorn dragged the corpses from the direct field of vision so that none of the other Stewardaides would spot them if they happened to look at the entrance.

The men's torches, he left behind, albeit in regret. Every smallest shimmer of light in the hallway could have given them away. That was why it took him another far-too-long moment to feel his way in the dark to Legolas. "What do you hear?"

"They're already leaving again." Legolas knelt at the turn leading to the actual cave, trying to classify the quiet noise there. "The majority seems to be gone already. If we both help Arwen, we have to let them go."

He clearly didn't like that idea. "There's hardly a dozen men left. You can handle them alone. If we lose these people now, there'll be no trace of them once more, and they can keep on spreading their poison in Gondor unhindered. I'll follow them."

Aragorn shook his head in reluctance. "Follow men who surely know this area inside out and who outnumber you? Not a good idea. They only have to lure you into an ambush and surround you, then there's nothing you can do. You should know that; it's not been _that_ long since the two of us were in that situation. This is exactly what they want, what they planned the whole time. Besides, it will soon be about getting Arwen back to the city as fast as possible. With an injured elf on my arms and in the saddle in front of me, I can't fight. We would be the perfect target for more attacks."

Legolas audibly had to force himself to keep his voice quiet. His composure was already faltering again. "Haven't you seen how much damage they did, Aragorn? How some of your own people are looking at you in the streets? I'm afraid! Afraid for my King and for this new peace that is not even one summer old. I haven't been fighting for this world for so long and almost given up on the love of my life to lose everything to a few blinded men now!"

All of that was true, without a doubt, but Aragorn could see something else in Legolas' behavior that he wasn't saying because he didn't even know about it himself. He simply didn't _want_ to see the danger. Just like in Helm's Deep, and at the Gap of Rohan as well, he was completely disregarding his own self, shaken so much by ongoing gloom inside of him that threats from the outside were nothing but an abstract possibility that wouldn't come true anyway. After all, he'd always been far too successful in battle so far. And if something _would_ happen to him – well, maybe that would at least numb the pain on the inside.

Aragorn quickly felt Legolas' arm and grabbed his shoulder tightly, right above the sensitive scar that had remained after the injury of Helm's Deep. He squeezed until a hiss revealed that the elf could feel the intended pain and then halted there for several seconds.

"Remember that sensation. Ilya has risked much to save you, you said so yourself. Do you really want to do that to her again? I know better than anyone the kind of threat these men pose! I went by wrong names almost my whole life so that the enemy couldn't find me. It's exactly because of men like these that I gave up a life in safety. And I had to learn the hard way how to decide when to give up a battle. You either can't do that yet or you forgot how. So please listen to me this time." Only now he let go of Legolas. He didn't enjoy lecturing him in such an almost brutal way, but his friend wouldn't have understood him otherwise.

After a few tense seconds of silence, Legolas reached for his bow again. "I go where you orders send me, as I did in the war." Aragorn didn't even seem to have made him seriously angry; given the deep breath he took, it more looked like Legolas was in truth relieved that he'd been stopped.

"This is not an order. I just want you to learn to act rationally again, not be guided by the darkness that takes hold of you in moments like these. I want you to understand me, not just follow me. If I wanted that, I could bring simple soldiers along."

Instead of waiting for an answer, Aragorn pressed back against the rock, slipping along them to pass Legolas by until he could make out a glimmer of light inside the cave. Alternating louder and softer voices revealed that Stewardaides were coming and going. "When we rush them, try to render as many of them unable to fight in the moment of surprise as possible, so that they can't get to Arwen. I'll try finding her as quickly as I can."

With numb hands, Aragorn unfastened his dagger again and drew Andúril. In this fight, there could only be losers. Either Arwen would die, or one of them would be injured or worse … Or they'd be forced to kill another few Stewardaides in self-defense. These people over there were still residents of Gondor, in spite of everything. Just like in the threat Aragorn had made at his coronation, he'd now turned into a King who had to fight his own people.

The Stewardaides standing closest to them fell, hit by arrows to their legs before they even noticed the intruders; another did when his friends' screams had him startle around. None of these people had been wearing even the most necessary leather or metal plating.

Taking out especially such comparatively helpless enemies only temporarily might be merciful and brought the advantage of being able to conduct interrogations later on. But the noise, of course, now brought the other Stewardaides to the scene who didn't hesitate to strike back. Two of them didn't even make it to approach Legolas bevor he stopped them with another few arrows; then he had to trade his bow for his daggers though.

In a rush, Aragorn searched the room, only lit by a few torches, for a sign where Arwen could be while fending off his enemies' first blows. When he made out the shape of a passage to another hallway, he went on the offensive and cleared a path for himself.

Actually, he'd expected the Stewardaides to be well trained, but the first one, he disarmed laughably quickly already. These people might want to cause a legendary uprising, but in open battle, they were still just simple farmers and citizens who tried to challenge a seasoned warrior.

The next one blocking Aragorn's way was clever enough to call one of his friends for help.

Fighting two adversaries at once was a lot harder if one kept on looking in worry towards where someone might be leaving soon to harm a prisoner. Aragorn lost precious seconds before he could get one of the men to break cover by a feigned move and kick him down to the ground. With little consideration, he rendered the guy harmless by a strike against his shaved head before turning to the other.

That one had used the moment to sneak up on him. A sharp knife flashed in his hand. The quite brawny man quickly struck out at Aragorn a few times and even hit his upper arm that was compromised already, before he withdrew and started to circle him.

Aragorn waited for the other to raise his arm again, then he rushed forward and tumbled to the ground with him. He had to take several more punches before he managed to beat the Stewardaid unconscious.

With a little grimace, Aragorn wiped the blood off of his split eyebrow. He quickly went sure that Legolas would be able to handle the rest of the enemies alone; then he ran off.

Only when he was standing right at the passage, he heard Arwen give a choked cry. His heart skipped a beat. Cruel images flashed in his mind, of what might be happening in there right now, just because the broil had had him miss that one Stewardaid had indeed already made it to get in there. They had been too slow, this was his fault …

Another scream that clear pain resonated in this time, made him put Andúril back in its scabbard. The hallway was much too cramped to use a sword. Even a torch would only hinder his movements. He had to make do with what small glimmer was shining through here from the main room and had only his dagger in his hand when he started to run, basically blind as his eyes had to adapt to almost full darkness first.

When he could finally make out something, it had him leap forward instantly.

At the end of the hallway cowered a petite, blindfolded shape who tried to keep someone away from them with firm but badly aimed kicks. Judging by the weak gleam of metal, Aragorn wasn't the only one who had a deadly weapon on him.

Finally, he could grab the Stewardaid's arm and yank him away from Arwen. They stumbled backward together; Aragorn crashed into rock and both daggers fell to the ground with a clank. The enemy tried to bend down to reach for them, but Aragorn managed to push him to the ground.

The man already struggled back to his feet before Aragorn could take him out. A fierce duel broke loose between the sharp-edged walls. The Stewardaid seemed to know exactly whom he was dealing with here and forgot his other victim completely. Again and again, he tried to grab the King he hated so much, tried to ram his head against the next best surface, but Aragorn managed to dodge time and again.

Suddenly he found himself cornered though, with a lower arm pressed against his throat. After hitting the enemy in vain a few times, he forced himself to pause motionlessly, to ignore the lack of air and gather his strength, so that he'd be able to use his legs more effectively in a moment …

It turned out, he didn't even have to. A well-aimed kick from behind, to the back of one knee, had the man collapse under screams.

Aragorn didn't waste any time with murmuring a relieved thanks to Arwen, though he couldn't help but be proud of her, of how quickly she had recollected herself after the highly dangerous situation and in spite of her battered condition. He should have known that nothing could bring his partner down so easily. But she'd still gone through far too much to be able to hold her ground for long now.

With a growl, Aragorn spit out blood from his sore throat and pressed the Stewardaid against the unyielding surface on his part now, to keep the tall but rather slender man from possibly getting up again. He didn't even give him a chance to defend himself anymore but brought down his fist again and again.

In spite of the noise still prevailing outside and Arwen's panting and her occasional coughing, Aragorn could hear the dry crack when the Stewardaid's nose broke. He didn't care. In a way, the sound actually felt good. Seeing how one of these guys had almost killed the love of his life had unhinged something in his mind that he'd actually had well under control ever since he'd been a child.

This man was at least partly responsible for half of the stables in Minas Tirith burning to the ground, for a child almost perishing in there. It was very likely that he'd also helped to kidnap Arwen and to torture her, and now he'd almost ... This bastard _deserved_ the pain.

" _Aragorn_!" It was Legolas' shout that finally stopped him. "I would say that's enough."

Shaking his head, his friend eyed Aragorn's posture, bent over the enemy, the unchained hate in his eyes that the light of the two torches revealed that Legolas had brought after an apparently won fight. "We already let most of these people flee. Leave those alive who can still talk, will you?"

Aragorn got up sluggishly and leaned against the wall, forehead pressed to the cool rock for seconds, trying to regain his composure. Though everything in him screamed to finally look after Arwen: With her small support earlier she'd shown him that at least she couldn't be doing too badly, and he didn't want to face her like this.

He kept on taking deep breaths ever until his anger subsided, the trembling in his body gradually stopping.

He still could feel Legolas' eyes on him. First, he stared back without any emotion, but then he nodded gratefully. At that moment, maybe the two of them understood each other better than ever. This time, Legolas had saved _him_ from giving in to the wrath inside him that had blocked every rationality.

Shortly after that complete blackout, Aragorn already felt the fear rising in him that he'd always harbored regarding this side of himself. His hands hadn't been shaking like this for a long time. He turned them to fists and closed his eyes. He would take care of the man when they got back to Minas Tirith, repair the damage that he had done. He couldn't undo this, unfortunately, that he knew. But maybe he could now understand the burden that Legolas had been carrying especially since Rohan, even a little better.

"Legolas?" Arwen finally spoke up; she had recognized her old friend's voice.

Aragorn quickly knelt down by the place where she had dropped down on her knees. Carefully caressing her hair, he rested his hand on her cheek. "We're here. We'll take you home."

Arwen immediately nuzzled against his touch. A weak smile curled on her chapped lips.

Putting his other hand on her cheek as well, he gently kissed her forehead. "I'm here. Everything will be alright. Are you in pain? Can you walk?"

In here, he had no way to tell how bad her injuries really were. That she'd just thrown herself into battle so gallantly, out of pure despair about possibly losing him, didn't have to mean anything at all yet. Besides, he didn't want to open her restraints before he could be sure, he wouldn't damage her wrists with a rough movement. And more light would only have hurt her eyes right now, given how she was turning away from the small flames already.

Since Arwen just nodded, he helped her up as carefully as possible. How much she was trembling and that she was trying hard to suppress her cough, mostly in vain though, had Aragorn painfully realize that the she-elf was physically sick for the first time since he knew her. For the first time, the mannish side of her was seriously showing that she'd chosen because of him. And for what? To have to endure fear and danger now …

Legolas waving at him impatiently quickly cast out these useless thoughts. He was already waiting in the passage, with the torches, so Aragorn could use it without hurting himself or Arwen.

Avoiding to look at the unconscious Stewardaid on the ground again, Aragorn followed him.

Only in one of the few corners outside protected from the draft, he was really confronted with how bad Arwen was looking. She was so damn pale ... And all these small wounds on her body, a few of which were still bleeding … He longed to take her in his arms and just hold her tight for hours, that was how fragile she looked in her torn dress. Once they were home, that was probably exactly what he would do, ignoring the kind of rumors it would spark once more. Still trying to deal with the terrible sight, he wrapped his cloak around Arwen's body so that she could at least start to warm up.

"Close your eyes, mîl nín." He slowly pulled off the cloth and thoughtfully shielded her eyes from the light with one palm. "Slowly."

Only after several seconds in which Arwen's eyes, reddened from probably more than one tear silently spilled in the last few days, were burning badly, he helped her scoot forward a little and severed the rope around her chafed and bloody wrists.

Arwen clenched her teeth when blood finally was properly flowing through the veins in her arms again, sending pain flashing through them that Aragorn could remember very well from one or two captivities himself. Moaning quietly, she tried to move the limbs uselessly hanging down her body.

When Aragorn carefully started to massage her hands to increase the circulation, she gifted him with another, a still quite weak smile.

Then she let her eyes wander through the room. Anger flashed on her slightly fever-flushed face immediately when she saw the Stewardaides that Legolas was busy tying up with pieces of torn clothes, one by one. "It's true, Aragorn ... That's not all of them by a long shot."

"It was impossible to take them all prisoner. They split up too unpredictably." Aragorn closed Arwen's hands that had become clammy into fists for her, then opened them again. It helped only slowly since her muscles were cramping badly. "Don't worry. Nothing will happen to you anymore. I'll never let these bastards get close to you again."

Actually, he wanted to take a look at her cuts next, but the second Arwen could move easier again, she firmly embraced him. Aragorn pulled her even closer immediately, not only but also to warm her additionally with his body heat. Caressing her back, again and again, every once in a while he kissed her hair.

The fears were still deeply rooted in him. He had to keep himself from holding his beloved too tightly, from possibly hurting her. It was only because of him that she'd been treated like this – and he had not been able to prevent it. It was exactly what he'd always been most afraid of. He'd somehow have to learn to live with that, and he already knew, that wouldn't be a matter of hours.

By now, the Stewardaides were all restrained. Except for the unconscious one, none of them was hurt too badly to walk.

"If we take them with us, we'll risk that their comrades will try to free them. And our progress will be very slow," Legolas pointed out, already busy with collecting his arrows from earlier. "But if we leave them here, the others will definitely come to get them out of here before the city guard arrives."

"I know."

Indecisive himself, Aragorn carefully helped Arwen to lean back again to keep on taking care of her. "You need to get to the Houses of Healing as quickly as possible, mîl nín."

Though Arwen immediately tried to shake her head calmingly, just like part of him had expected, she couldn't even voice an objection since she already had to cough again. His partner was running a fever, and Aragorn didn't know when she had started to. Infections were attacking her cells, and the one of her airways weakened her further. If they lost too much time, she would soon do far worse.

They wouldn't be offered another chance to get information about the rest of the Stewardaides so quickly again though. This wasn't helping.

"First of all, get Ryscfin here, Legolas." The young man was in danger out there; even Tercelborne and Arod might fall victim to the rest of the enemies, as those would surely be happy to keep the King from riding back to the city. "Bring the horses if you can. There has to be some normal way leading up here too, right?"

"Give me a minute."

Being familiar enough with caves and mountains, thanks to his origins, fortunately, it didn't take Legolas long to find a way to fulfill Aragorn's request, in the shape of an overgrown path.

Ryscfin was still visibly nervous. He could hardly stop himself from assuring them how glad he was that everything had turned out alright. Only Legolas harshly told him that he had to be more discreet so that the wrong people wouldn't hear him, he went silent.

With a few bandages on her body, Arwen just looked mostly exhausted by now. Her helper, she didn't regard with even one glance. Clutching Aragorn's water bottle, she drank some small sips from time to time, when between her coughing fits, she managed to. There was no way she was ready for a possible fight though.

"One of us has to stay here," Aragorn remarked reluctantly. "And between us, with a companion in your saddle, you're the better rider and fighter, Legolas. But if Arwen is doing worse on the way home …"

Ryscfin approached him before his friend could speak up. "Let me ride ahead. A few of the horses are still here. I grew up here. I think I can make it through the woods without anyone stopping me. I'll send the city guard to you. There are still risks but you would lose half a day at most. Besides, knowing the others, they won't come back here _that_ quickly. The leader is much too careful, and he doesn't care enough about his people for that. I mean, I don't even know his name." He didn't dare look Aragorn and Legolas straight in the eyes, or even worse, Arwen. After all, it had only been a few hours since he'd been one of these men lying here on the ground now.

Aragorn still felt a great deal like sitting him down _with_ the prisoners. "Too dangerous. Your former companions won't hesitate to harm you if they find you. You risked your life helping us already."

"And I'll do it again." Ryscfin thrust his jaw forward in determination. "I have much to make up for. Both to you, Your Majesty, and to others." Very fleetingly, his eyes wandered to Arwen who was still ignoring him though. He needed a moment before he could go on.

"You could have killed me. You were perfectly justified to. But you spared me. I'll be forever in your debt."

Aragorn was tempted to object again, but in a few quiet, insistent words in Sindarin, Legolas made it clear to him that the young man would probably make the ride anyway, regardless of them allowing it or not. Maybe he deserved to be given this chance.

"Take the fastest of the horses," he agreed reluctantly. "Take the man next door with you so he'll get help quickly. Take no rests. We count on the guards coming to meet us tomorrow."

Ryscfin's eyes shone with glee. "I will not fail you. You will not regret your decision." He quickly bowed and ran off then.

"I hope so."

Aragorn's expression only softened again when he looked at Arwen who had snuggled down under his cloak and seemed to be dozing, with her eyes open as it was custom for elves. At least that hadn't changed.

"She would never admit it, but she's weakened. Can you make sure, the prisoners can follow us without breaking free?"

It wasn't a question, still, he was glad that Legolas put him off with a nod. If you grew up in King Thranduil's palace, you probably learned how to make prisoners see reason.

There was no way back anyway. They could only pray to the Valar now who had already brought them safely through the war that this highly risky ride would go well, too.

A few hours later, in spite of her growing fever, Arwen was still freezing miserably and nuzzling close to Aragorn. She looked like she wanted to crawl under his vest next. Aragorn had to force his beloved to drink again and again since her cough made it almost impossible for her to swallow anything, but she urgently needed fluids. Making her eat something from his provisions was impossible in spite of her being very hungry. Every now and then she fell into a restless sleep. Quietly murmured words and frequent startles revealed that she was being tortured by nightmares that Aragorn couldn't do anything against.

In the cave, he'd already seen the fresh bruises on her side through the tear in her dress. It told him that Arwen's ordeal had completely nullified the healing process of the rib she'd sprained in that battle in Rohan. While she always forced a smile on her lips when she woke up and saw his worried face, he clearly felt how big the pain was that she was in. So far, he had no idea how she was supposed to get through the gallop on the last stretch of road without blacking out from the agony.

At some point, Arwen took his hand and stroked it with her ice-cold fingertips. "I knew you would come." She was talking so quietly that he could hardly understand her.

"Well, a King can hardly sit back while rebels are kidnapping his future wife, can he?" He hadn't quite remembered yet how to grin.

Arwen didn't smile. She raised his hand to her lips and gave it a quick kiss. Then she hid her head against his chest again as if she didn't dare look at the Stewardaides, though she was usually never afraid of anything or anyone. Just seconds later, Aragorn could feel that she had dozed off again.

He pressed her closer to him and nuzzled his cheek against her hair before steering Tercelborne next to Arod, trying hard to turn his attention to the surroundings. So late at night, it became even more dangerous out here, and Legolas' behavior confused him.

The seven prisoners who had to walk alongside the horses were being silenced every time they tried to protest, with a scathing glance … and, if nothing else helped, with a hard pull on the ropes that kept their arms painfully twisted behind their backs. But that wasn't the only thing agitating Legolas if Aragorn was reading his repeated gaze upwards right.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that he, too, saw a tiny shape, almost impossible to make out in the grey sky, coming from Minas Tirith and headed exactly for the woods they'd just left behind. Now he also heard that very quiet falcon's scream again that had already confused them before.

"He's carrying something." Stopping Arod, Legolas reached for his bow. For the moment, he left it to Aragorn to watch the prisoners who were exchanging meaningful glances.

"Too far." It was one of the rare instances when Aragorn had to doubt Legolas' aim. This wasn't exactly a Nazgûl mount.

The first shot barely missing the animal proved him right. Flapping its wings, with an upset, frightened scream, the falcon upped his speed.

Visibly angry with himself, Legolas nocked again, taking a little more time now. The next attempt eliminated the more than suspicious bird. "You were saying?" Amused, he took the rope back.

"Have the guards take care of it. Maybe he's got an important message on him."

"Ridiculous." One of the Stewardaides, exhausted from the long march, snorted. "Do you really think you stand a chance against us? We are _everywhere_. It will be our pleasure to destroy every elvish scum that tries to occupy Ithilien instead of finally getting off of our world. And the Steward will support us once we got rid of this annoying parasite over there." With which he apparently meant Aragorn.

Aragorn raised a bored eyebrow. "You should have care how you speak in the presence of a man who has your life in his hands. That I suspended the death penalty in Gondor doesn't mean I can't reinstitute it, you know? They never were very lenient with traitors of the country here."

Unintelligible, angry murmurs was all the answer he got. Even though it was unlikely that any of these people seriously expected such an approach from Aragorn: That they could expect no mercy regarding the degree of their punishment, was apparently frightening enough already.

Maybe that was satisfying enough for now.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of this chapter, you'll find an amazing fanart of Tarisilya that my dear friend rymu did for me. Please give her some love on her tumblr (https://rymu.tumblr.com/) or deviantart (https://www.deviantart.com/rymu92). There's also a little bonus scene I wrote for this gorgeous image that you can find here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979070 Thank you once more for this wonderful gift, hun. This is the most stunning fanart anyone ever did for me, and I will love it <3.

Aragorn and Legolas had been wondering the whole time if Ryscfin would make it to Minas Tirith or if the remaining Stewardaides would catch him. It seemed like a small miracle to them when a cloud of dust, of silver and dark blue, showed up on the horizon.

Out of breath with haste, the group came to a halt next to Aragorn and Legolas, and the members quickly bowed to their King. The cold looks of contempt that they regarded a few of the prisoners with, had Aragorn shudder.

"We rode as fast as we could, Your Majesty. We'll take the prisoners from here. Is Lady Arwen doing alright?" The captain rode up to Aragorn and eyed the she-elf worriedly.

"She's injured. Every minute counts. Take the men to the city immediately, _unharmed_. Do you understand?" Aragorn sharply fixated his gaze on the man.

It took a moment of upset disbelief, but then almost all the guards nodded, grumbling quietly.

On the inside, Aragorn was shaking his head. He should be happy about such huge loyalty, but it was deeply frightening to him how quickly such loyalty could turn into hate on others and how strongly part of his people were being polarized already. Especially because he had lost control so much himself today. That couldn't happen again.

"I trust you to keep your temper. Hurry."

After Aragorn had told the men about the falcon, too, Legolas handed over the prisoners, and the two of them could move properly again at last.

Now that Arod and Tercelborne were finally allowed to run, Aragorn and Legolas would cover the rest of the way a lot faster. But even that time would still pass much too slowly.

No matter how big the relief was about being done running the gauntlet, the happiness about coming home was limited. This trip had made Aragorn realize very clearly how many troubles he was being faced with, at the beginning of his reign already. And too many rash things had been said by Legolas and him in the last few days. He felt drained, and not only because he had hardly slept since the coronation.

Right now, he didn't want to have anyone around him except for Arwen, and it was about high time that Legolas went to see his wife as well. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

In addition, the citizens on the street didn't seem to be happy about their King being back today. A few of the people who had often cheered exuberantly at Aragorn stood at the roadside in scattered groups, eyeing them warily. Whispers arose at many street corners as soon they had left them a few feet behind. Substantially more windows were being demonstratively closed than at Aragorn's return after his journey to the west back then. The children usually squealing so happily kept behind their mothers, scared by the icy silence.

_Haven't you seen how much damage they did, Aragorn? How some of your own people are looking at you in the streets?_

Remembering Legolas' words made him wonder if maybe he'd indeed never looked as closely as he should have.

When they followed an especially dirty road with broken cobblestones and far too many half-ruined houses that Arod and Tercelborne almost were stumbling on, there were finally so many citizens gathering that they found the courage to block the way. It only took a few moments before the place was filled with bystanders, gossiping women, and red-faced, sloppily dressed men. A couple of people from other places joined them to watch how the freshly crowned King would handle the hostility.

Aragorn looked across the crowd without moving a muscle. He arduously tried to tell himself that it was not personal rejection creating this scene.

These men just had seen too much darkness in the war and were being sick of it. These were nothing but desperate deeds of people who were too easily incited to hope for miracles by seductive words. Even absurd lies like the Stewardaides' could come to fruition for such a crowd.

And unfortunately, he couldn't deal with that right now. The ever-growing fever of sickness that Arwen's body was simply being completely overwhelmed with, as it had never had anything to do with it, had weakened her even further. In her sleep, she was quietly moaning with pain again and again.

Aragorn still tried to fill his voice with kindness. "What is the demand that brings you here? I am asking you to let us pass. Later, I will be happy to have any conversation with the people that they wish for."

"Does our King have no time for his citizens once more?" a woman in the background shouted. "Our children are sick! They're playing in the rubble, and where are you? Gone from the city, _again_!"

"We'll all be starving in the winter," a man said from the side. Given the considerable size of his belly, that earned him several amused laughs which understandably just made him even angrier. "The harvest was trampled by these savages on the fields. It doesn't look like you care much about your capital."

"Nothing but empty promises," an elderly man stated in frustration. "At least the Steward acts instead of hiding in the Citadel or flee the city at sunrise."

"Where am I?" It was harder and harder for Aragorn to not let the unfounded reproaches get to him. Answering such aggression with his own would maybe let the situation escalate for good.

"I am the King of _Gondor and Arnor_. There are more people than you living in this realm. And they didn't have walls around them to protect them in the war. The survivors in the villages on the far plains of these lands don't even have anything left to call home. It's because of them that I have traveled west, with a good conscience as the city was in good hands. What do you think went wrong? Minas Tirith is almost being reconstructed and shines brighter than ever. Besides, no one reported to me that your children were in the Houses of Healing. Are the rebels telling you, it would be treason, asking the court for help? You certainly didn't mind me healing the wounded in the war. I can't cast a spell to make it rain more or to make the ground more fertile. Instead, I give every farmer what they need. So far, there have been only a few though who managed to come to see me. Why don't you help them if you're so worried about the harvest?"

Although a few people nodded in shame and retreated back into the side alleys, there were still citizens who rather wanted to put the blame on their King in spite of all plausible words.

Among them, the first woman, the one with the piercing dark eyes. "As if! A ruler has to come to his people, not the other way round!"

"Who says that you're the true heir of the Kings anyway? Given how you suddenly showed up here? A ring and a sword, what's that supposed to prove? You could have stolen them both!" That came from someone who was clever enough to hide deep within the crowd.

Aragorn was searching for more words to say though his hand had turned into a hard, angry fist around the reins.

That was when, from the corner of his eyes, he could see that Legolas was about to do something very stupid, in his posture growing tenser and tenser, in the expression in his friend's eyes, similar to the one back then when he had given Boromir a piece of mind in Imladris. Aragorn wanted to try and stop him – but it was too late.

The elf urged Arod on, riding right into the crowd where people didn't look up in awe as they usually did in a Firstborn's presence but backed away just enough to not get kicked by the horse. "Is that how little you saw of war, people of Gondor?" Aragorn had last heard Legolas talk that aggressively in Rohan. He _should_ have stopped him. There had just been too much happening yesterday that could throw even an elf off balance.

"Did you not see the only men who had the courage to lead the last soldiers to battle? Where were your eyes when your King saved this city from destruction? He has entered the realm of the dead just to protect you from the host of Mordor! Who of you helped when your beloved Steward was on his deathbed? Without the King's healing hands, that line would long have been broken because the last man holding that office whom you worshipped so much, preferred cowardly jumping to his death over fighting."

"And where was _your_ kind?" that one woman complained again. "How many wouldn't have died if your people had helped instead of leaving Men alone in their despair? Why should we listen to you? To a traitor to this world and its people?"

Affirmative shouts and applause were given by the bystanders.

Old pain suddenly shone in Legolas' eyes that Aragorn knew only too well. He had seen it in his foster father, in Lady Galadriel, in King Thranduil, in every elf who had been fighting for a place for this race on Middle-earth for millennia and then had to admit in grief that it was useless.

No, the elves hadn't been in this last war. You didn't risk your life for a world that you were about to leave anyway. Not to mention that the elven realms had needed to be defended as well. Many elves had supported the Fellowship of the Ring anyway and thereby done their part to defeat Sauron, but what did a man on the street know about such things? A mother who was worried about her child?

For a moment, it looked like Legolas would back out, as if he'd maybe just see to a hole being made for Aragorn and him and give up an argument he wouldn't win here.

But then something happened that Aragorn hadn't even expected in his worst dreams. From somewhere in the crowd – where exactly was impossible to tell –, something was being thrown at Legolas. One of the citizens didn't just verbally express their annoyance but attacked the elf with an egg. No one had seen such an impudence coming, including many of the citizens who looked just as shocked as Aragorn.

Legolas turned around in a flash and raised his hand. The egg was being caught without a single crack.

A shocked gasp went through the rows of men. Most of them had never been in a battle. Many warriors were either still in the Houses of Healing or busy with reconstruction. These people didn't know an elf's abilities, and they didn't fail to impress. At least the children and younger citizens exchanged excited glances; some were even smiling.

Only if one was looking closely, they could notice that Legolas' hand was shaking when he smelled the egg, his nose wrinkled. Throwing it to the ground, he eyed the thick, unusually dark egg white pouring out from between the broken shell with real, deep worry. "The chickens are sick, Your Majesty. Ithilien's contaminated water is apparently already seeping down to Minas Tirith's underground. Time is short. My people and I will be leaving for North Ithilien on this very day to start finding the cause and deal with it."

At least some of his composure returning, he turned to the people again. "It's these people you trust without knowing them, disturbing the city's safety and peace. You better think about what you're doing right now. My kin gave neither your Steward nor your King any promise to protect you. But as long as some of us are still dwelling on Middle-earth, we will do our part to make this world better. If you'd rather be impressed by big words on forbidden parchment though, come to _me_ instead of stopping your King who's holding an injured she-elf in his arms."

For seconds, there was nothing but silence. The loudest woman was the first to step aside. Once someone had made a start, the others followed suit quickly. Guilt and understanding were written on the people's faces.

Aragorn urged Tercelborne to a trot without looking at anyone. Only when Legolas had caught up with him and he could be sure that only he could hear him, he started to talk, tiredly and with a choke.

"As Arwen's partner, I thank you for your efforts, but as your King, I should actually hit you right now. You just demonstrated to the folk that their ruler apparently needs someone to protect him from them. From now on, they'll be asking where my elvish bodyguard is whenever I enter the streets."

Legolas shook his head at him helplessly to apologize. He knew that he had made a mistake but nothing could be done about that now.

Some healers were fortunately already expecting them by the Houses of Healing. They gently took Arwen from Aragorn and carried her inside, towards an empty treatment room, looking concerned.

Aragorn stayed by the entrance indecisively. No matter how much he wanted to take care of Arwen, he had other things to do. First, they would bathe his beloved to help her warm up, and clean her wounds. He couldn't have helped with that anyway. Still, he was deeply reluctant to leave her alone. So he was staring away until he felt Legolas' hand on his shoulder.

His friend was right. The sooner the upcoming meetings would be over, the faster he could come back here. And the healers knew that they had to call for him immediately if Arwen should be doing worse. It didn't matter how much he himself was yearning for the silence that he would only find by Arwen's bedside.

Today, it was even harder to ignore the eerie silence expecting him in the courtyard.

Actually, he wanted to take a minute to say farewell to Legolas, but after his friend had given Arod to a servant, he was already on his way to the guesthouse of the King. He was either so much in a hurry that he forgot all politeness, or he still was angry about yesterday.

"Please wait." Aragorn followed him quickly. "No matter what's going on in the city, let us solve our conflict before you leave it. I don't want to do without you for months, knowing something's come between us."

Legolas slowed down but didn't stop. "As much as I'd love to, I've been gone for far too long already." He nodded to the window behind which Tarisilya's and his chambers were located. The shutters were firmly closed. "Something's wrong. Even more than before our departure, I can feel it from here. More than anything else, my wife needs light right now. It was you, I think, who personally gave me this advice, in the night when you saved her from death. We'll meet again as soon as time allows, I promise. Until then: Don't fret, Aragorn. I already told you, I bear no grudge about a few wrong words. We'll deal with the rest when things have calmed down a little in Gondor."

Shortly before he got out of sight, he seemed to remember something urgent. "Should Erestor happen to join your meeting, please tell him to gather the others. I need him for the trip."

"If _he_ lets me speak at least, I will gladly do." More irritated than he probably should be, Aragorn watched his friend leave. Instead of being there for his beloved now, he himself would only manage to change his clothes and quickly wash his hair. Then a very long day would be waiting for him.

For keeping on worrying now on top of everything else, about this unnerving instinct that something between Legolas and him just didn't work anymore the way it should – and already hadn't since Helm's Deep, in fact –, he simply didn't have the strength.

Part of Legolas had hoped that Tarisilya wasn't being inside the completely darkened room; that she'd maybe gone to the Houses of Healing. But actually, he already knew better. His heart clenched in pain but not in surprise when he entered and found his wife sitting by the closed window, huddled on her chair, with her face buried in her hands.

Legolas' future first advisor Thondrar was standing behind her, both his hands gently resting on her shoulders. He didn't look up any more than Tarisilya had, but unlike her, he seemed at least to notice her husband's arrival. "The boy died last night. A total surprise, he was actually doing quite alright already. But when Her Highness returned after getting his parents, it was already too late."

"It doesn't last anymore. It's just like with King Éomer. As soon as I was gone, his shoulder got worse. And now Ninor … The others were right the whole time. What I'm doing makes no difference, it never has. Now it doesn't even matter when I try to heal people. After Rohan, it probably just serves me right that this is how the Valar are punishing me." Legolas had never heard his wife talk like that, not even back then when he'd been in Lórien with the Fellowship of the Ring and her ghostly sight had made him try to send her to Valinor. That was how much her complete lethargy had frightened him at that point.

This time, he wouldn't leave her alone with this. Never again.

His body reacted before his mind, entirely frozen in shock about the news as well, even realized. He approached the window, automatically, and opened it, then he knelt down in front of Tarisilya and took her hands.

The deep emptiness filling her eyes would have frightened him even more if he hadn't already seen it not too long ago. In fact, exactly on the day that she was talking about. A day that, unfortunately, seemed to have left even worse traces than they'd thought indeed. It was about high time to do something against that. To let Tarisilya know that in spite of everything that they had gone through and what they had done wrong, they were still having a future.

"Come with me, elwen. I want to show you our new home."

It took Aragorn until late at night before he saw one of the elves again who had left Minas Tirith so rapidly, with both luggage and equipment.

Unlike the others, Tarisilya had left without a bag and on an unsaddled horse, so he wasn't really surprised that she was coming back already - with a silver bracelet on her left arm, which had probably been the belated begetting day gift Legolas had mentioned - and still visibly shocked by the terrible events of the night before. That she actually let Erestor of all people accompany her, who was riding a few feet behind her – not half as grim as usual for a change –, drew an appreciative smile from Aragorn in spite of everything. His lecture that other morning seemed to have helped.

He never learned what it was that Legolas had shown Tarisilya that afternoon or where exactly in North Ithilien this group of Firstborn, filled with so much thirst for action, was initially staying.

Erestor didn't have anything to say about it; it didn't seem to be much of a concern to him either. Ithilien wasn't his world. Together with many other Imladris-elves, he would probably be leaving for the west before the settlement north of Minas Tirith would even be fully established, as soon as he had fulfilled his duty of helping Aragorn. And if the Valar were gracious, Glorfindel and he would then finally have time to deal with whatever weird thing had been going on between them for centuries already. These two, each in their own way, had fought for the good of this world ever since Gondolin; they deserved some peace and happiness.

Tarisilya on the other hand … Well, _if_ there was anyone she was confiding in at all, then it was probably Arwen. In the time following this day, no one else got to see the Princess of the Eryn of Lasgalen wear another face than the one of the silent helper whose abilities revolutionized the Houses of Healing and who withdrew to her chambers at the end of most days.

It was only every now and then that she accepted Aragorn's and Arwen's invitation to eat with them or joined her friend when she worked on her slightly rusty close combat skills, together with Aragorn. Even then though, she kept the two of them verbally on distance.

Aragorn was only told a few last sentences regarding the whole matter, in a sealed letter that Tarisilya thrust into his hand upon her return, with a bland smile, after he'd helped her get down from her horse. In some way, the document was the last echo of exactly those fights that had already been leaving a nasty taste in his mouth the whole time. And although it hurt, although in a way Aragorn felt left alone, this temporary separation was maybe what was best for his friendship with his Ring Companion before it could be damaged even further.

_Aragorn_

_In haste before the next stretch of the road, I am writing down my first official request to my King. There's too much ahead of my people and me to put down here in detail how heavy my soul is._

_The stars over North Ithilien have vanished, and the moon hides its face once more. There can't be even remotely enough selfish yearning for Tarisilya's nearness in me to expose her to this darkness. First, I have to secure the land that I want to take my family to, even though that means, I'm asking Ilya to wait once more._

_Though that often hurts: Time, fortunately, has no meaning for elves. It was Ilya's own idea to retire until North Ithilien can welcome her home. Although I do know that she is only trying to bury her grief far from me, and though it would be my duty to help her overcome it, it is my wish for final peace in these lands that forces me to agree. Our time will come, no matter how many nights we will spend in tears without each other._

_The dying woods of Lórien don't seem to be a place for someone who has seen enough death, mellon nín. And you're the last person I need to try and tell why I will not leave Ilya in the coldness of the Elvenking's Halls. So I forward her wish to serve in Minas Tirith for now to my King. There's no place in these realms that can be safer for my wife than the one under your watchful eye. So I can ride out in reassurance and heal what is poisoning the air, water and ground of these lands. If your time allows, I'd be grateful if you want to teach my wife the most necessary handling of the weapon I was forced to give to her in my stead. There's no one else I could trust that with either._

_My second request today is easier to fulfill. Give this letter to my loyal companion Gimli, the Lord of the Glittering Caves that my heart desires to see so badly. There is no word in the language of my people that could make up for the blame that I rightfully see in his eyes whenever we meet in the hurry of our duties. But I do want him to know how much I am missing his, the most cheerful laughter of all the Ring Companions, keeping what little light there is left in my heart._

_I do hope you know about my deep gratefulness, mellon nín. I am looking forward to seeing you again very soon. Look north and order the fanfare of the elves of North Ithilien whenever you need my help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * mellon nín = my friend


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As announced, as an exception, here is another chapter for this week. Thank you for all your lovely comments once more <3\. Part 7 of this series is next, obviously, which makes me stupidly excited as it's one of my absolute favorites, and there's so much finally coming to light that has been brewing in the background for a while ... Can't wait for all you lovely lot to see it!

Aragorn's thoughts were still with Legolas when he could finally take his place by Arwen's bedside. The moon was once more almost impossible to make out in the sky. So Aragorn could only vaguely guess the night's progress.

But it must be far beyond midnight when he stretched a little for the first time, given how his bones cracked after he'd been fighting infections and fever nonstop for too long, murmuring healing words in Sindarin, with his eyes closed and his hands on Arwen's side and her forehead. He hadn't even noticed that a gust of wind had been blown out the only candle burning in the room.

Only a quiet yawn or whine of the whelp that Ryscfin had brought to the city had broken the silence only every now and then. The dog was still a little weak, but when he'd seen Aragorn hurry across the yard, he'd waddled after him ever until Aragorn had had no choice but to take him here. Upon arrival, the animal had crawled under the bed and was sleeping there now with a content snort.

It was the only thing that had Aragorn smirk for a moment before he closed his eyes for a quick rest.

"About time. You know, I've always been meaning to ask: Do all the Dúnedain need so little sleep in general, or is it just you who can do almost without?" Arwen's voice had Aragorn look up in visible surprise.

Using a torch from the hallway, he quickly lit a few candles. "I've made it a habit, to sleep only when nothing important is going on when I was an adolescent. Otherwise, I can't find any rest."

"I should remember that. Guess that means I'll see you in our bedroom once a month at most, once we have one." Arwen's short grin turned into a cough again already.

Aragorn quickly handed her a cup of water and helped her sit up, then caressed her cheek for a check. Judging by his visible relief, her fever seemed to have gone down. "Not while you're there, don't worry. How are you?"

"I'm not really sure."

Arwen still felt awfully cold, no amount of blankets could change that. It was as if they'd got only her body out of that cave. As if part of her soul was still there. The shock about this one short, terrible moment remained when she had had to fear, that one bastard would end her new life before it had really begun. And it frightened her how vulnerable this mortal body really was.

When her cup started to shake, she quickly put it aside. She didn't want to burden Aragorn with such problems. He'd already risked far too much for her. She wouldn't have needed to hear the healers in the hallway gossip about certain events on the streets to know that. "At least the pain is gone."

"You just don't feel it. They gave you a numbing herbal mixture. Did you eat anything? You have to regain your strength."

Arwen just shook her head. She silently watched Aragorn cut an apple from a bowl on the table into pieces with a knife. Given a certain unpleasant welcome present that had waited for him in his chambers upon their arrival from their journey, that he had told her about recently – far too late for her taste –, a gesture probably not only meant to help her rest.

"Thank you. I think I slept all day." It took some effort to force the pieces down her throat. Though it didn't burn so badly anymore, her gullet felt downright clogged. By the stars, how were men dealing with this all the time? Her, she'd definitely not leave the house without sufficiently warm clothes ever again.

"They say, you're in trouble for looking for me."

"More because of some people's mindset." Aragorn calmingly caressed her arm for a moment. "Part of the folk is unhappier than I'd realized." He leaned forward with a sigh, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Some are screaming for improvements that are simply not possible to achieve so quickly. They only know the myth they've been told about the heir of Kings. They expect me to clap my hands and make everything as it was before Sauron's shadow crept across the land. They rather listen to lies than understand that Faramir would have to take care of the whole land as well, and not only of them."

Aragorn ran an exhausted hand through his curls, then absently folded his hands. "But don't you burden yourself with these things. These worries are hard enough for me to deal with."

"And it was me who added even more." Staring down on her blanket, Arwen swallowed thickly. "I wasn't careful enough, though I knew, these men were in the city. I'm sorry, Estel. It won't happen again." Now tears were welling in her eyes after all. Exactly what she'd meant to avoid.

"Don't." Aragorn grabbed her hand in agitation. " _I_ should have taken better care. And the guards were being negligent as well. One thing led to another. I didn't expect them to drag you into this personally, not yet. This is exactly why I had involved you in this whole thing as little as possible in the beginning, so they wouldn't even target you, to begin with. It's driving me insane, thinking about what could have happened – what _did_ happen."

"Fortunately, it wasn't much. But they wanted to know so much about you. _That's_ what scares me. They want to strike right here, right in our home. They think, we … that maybe I'm carrying your child." Her hand still shaking, Arwen stroked the tunic they'd put on her to replace her ruined dress, grazing the dagger wound on her belly. "I mean, they couldn't know … Maybe I should have told these bastards. But that wouldn't have changed anything either. That one man would have done anything at all to make sure, you'll never look at me again." Her words became quieter by the syllable, finally turning into a hoarse sob.

Aragorn grabbed her chin, trying to read the answer in her eyes. "Did he dare to …?"

"No. But I think he wanted someone else to do the dirty work for him." Arwen quickly rested her hand on his. "Ryscfin, this boy, he refused to obey. If he didn't, who knows …" Wrapping her arms around Aragorn's neck, seeking support, she hid her face against his shoulder, allowed his caress on her back to lead her far away from that cruel place in her soul.

"But that's not what's worrying me. They wanted to know all about your daily routine. They're here …"

"I know. Right now, we don't know who we can trust. And as long as you're being close to me, these rebels will be out to get you. I know that now. Next time they won't hesitate to go even further." Now she felt Aragorn tremble too. "I'd understand if you changed your mind about living here until I can get rid of these people."

"Estel?" Confused, Arwen backed away a little. "What are you even talking about? I don't want to leave. Didn't I tell you I'd stay with you until you decided about our future? No matter what."

"With me? We can hardly even see each other right now! Many court ladies talk about you with suspicion, just because you weren't born at a court of Men. Even after our wedding, they'll be watching our every step. And then the Stewardaides. Is the risk worth it? I want you to be happy, Arwen." There was suddenly so much pain in Aragorn's eyes ... Some surely came from the thought of sending her away, but it was hard to ignore that he could also hardly stand having to fear that someone would harm her. "There's still many of your people left in Imladris. It would be just a few months …"

"Estel, I _don't want to leave_!" A hint of anger took hold of Arwen, at the thought that he could be actually serious about this nonsense. That it wasn't just springing from a completely overtired mind.

"I know exactly what could happen. But I won't let a few misguided men part me from you. Besides, you seem to have forgotten that I'm a warrior just like you. Once I'm healed, I will be finally remembering that again for good. Then I'll have at least something to do until I can officially take over tasks at this court. It's only natural that you don't have much time right now. You _did_ only just take office. I'm well trained in waiting, you should know that."

Leaning towards him, she gave him a slow, tender kiss. It took Aragorn only a single uneasy second before he returned the gesture, slightly opening his lips so their tongues could meet.

At least for one long moment, time was standing still.

"As if I stood a chance against someone as stubborn as you." Aragorn reluctantly pushed Arwen an arm's length away. "I'll find a way to make your life here safer. We can get through this together." Though his worries hadn't become any smaller, he hid them behind a loving smile and only let go of Arwen when it was time to say good-bye. She still was quite weak and needed rest, no matter how much he'd have loved to cuddle her further.

Then a thought occurred to him. Ignoring Arwen's confusion, he knelt down next to the bed and got out the whelp from under it that she hadn't noticed yet. The little one wasn't happy about being woken up at all but yapped in quiet protest. Aragorn sat the tiny animal down on Arwen's lap and nodded at her invitingly.

She eyed the dog in astonishment, managing to scratch him behind his ear a little, in spite of her exhaustion, while Aragorn explained where the animal was coming from.

The whelp curiously sniffed her hand. He seemed to ponder what to think about this new being in his proximity for a moment. Then he started to pant in delight and jump up and down on the blanket. When Arwen looked up at Aragorn questioningly, he made use of the inattention immediately. Bracing his front paws on her upper body, he tried to lick her face.

Arwen made it just in time to sit him down on the blanket again, chuckling.

"I think you could use a little company. And you'll surely be a much better mother figure than a grumpy Dúnadan." The enthusiastic shine in Arwen's eyes made Aragorn's heart swell. He hadn't been allowed to see it for far too long. To avoid spoiling her happiness, he rather didn't tell her the ulterior motive for that spontaneous gift right away.

A whelp could make but a little noise. But this one would grow into an imposing animal and develop a keen protective instinct. A big dog in Arwen's chambers who would defend his lady, when Aragorn couldn't take care of her himself, sounded like a good plan.

At least the whelp seemed to be very satisfied with the choice of his new owner, seeing as he'd already got comfortable on her belly, with his head resting on his paws, and was about to fall asleep again.

"This is so sweet." Arwen smiled at Aragorn, visibly moved. "Do you know when you can come back?"

"Tomorrow night. If I can't make it to get away from the meetings earlier, that is. I'll have a guard stand outside your door until you're back on your feet and can swing your sword again yourself." Aragorn put out the candles again. "Rest now. I'll stay until you're asleep."

He could have left a whole group of soldiers by the room though and even lock it from inside … After what had happened, he would always be worried about Arwen, as long as the Stewardaides existed.

Upon arrival in his own chambers, he searched it to make sure that nothing was possibly different than before. A procedure he'd probably have to go through every evening now, at least until the enemy in his own ranks had been caught. And that might take a while; these people were being damn careful. There wasn't even anything written in that message that Legolas and he had been able to steal that he could not already have guessed and not a single reference to either a sender or a recipient. It was not just with these worries that he did lay down to sleep then. He probably wouldn't find any rest, but for the sake of reason, he should probably at least try.

The upcoming time would be exhausting for all the realm leaders.

When autumn unfolded in Minas Tirith, it was time for the hobbits to leave Gondor. More than one day was spent in tears and with farewells before on their last evening in his city, Aragorn invited the halflings to a feast in a private setting, in the King's House.

Recently, things had been calm, compared to the bad events after the coronation. Still, it was another evening spent mostly with nervousness that spoilt the appetite. One reason for keeping the table small was that Aragorn hadn't forgotten that his enemies – almost as if they were a Sackville-Baggins – struck on such days on principle, to hit him especially hard. No matter how often the guards assured them that everything was alright, the mood remained sober.

After the meal, the silence in the festive hall that not even a couple of very gifted musicians with harps could bridge had everyone quickly flee who didn't want to watch the evening fade away over some wine and depressing conversation. Soon, the circle was reduced to the hobbits' closest friends.

After the last course, it didn't even take Sam five minutes to excuse himself from the hall too. He didn't have a real destination in mind when he ended up in the courtyard where far more guards than usual were on patrol. Another reminder that Minas Tirith wasn't the safest place in the world right now. Maybe he should just go to his room and give in to the tiredness that the heavy meal had left. If someone came looking for him though, that was the first place, his friend would suspect him to be. It was easier to storm Mordor than to keep sleeping with Merry and Pippin hammering on your door.

With a sigh, he let his gaze wander along the high white wall that he was maybe allowed to see in the bright shine of the moon for the last time tonight when he noticed a shape sitting at the north side that didn't quite seem to match the soldiers making their observant rounds up there.

Driven by his usual insatiable thirst for knowledge, Sam ran towards one of the wooden stairs leading upwards and climbed them with some difficulty. These were just not made for Hobbits. When he arrived, out of breath, his face flushed, bracing his hands on his knees, he was worried that the elf he'd seen from the distance had vanished already. She surely wasn't sitting there because she was longing for some company so badly.

Instead, Tarisilya was suddenly standing right before him, shaking her head in amusement. "Samwise Gamgee, is there really nothing that can rid you of your curiosity?"

"That's not in a Hobbit's nature," he announced proudly but quickly became rueful.

"I just meant to ask, milady … I mean, Princess … why you didn't stay with us earlier." Why was this polite form of address so complicated? Not even Strider had a problem with the hobbits still calling him by one of his old names. But this black-clad elf who lately was being close to him suspiciously often had insisted that the halflings paid the nobles that respect. It wasn't like that elf had a right to give anyone here orders, but who wanted to argue with someone who was twice your size and had the snow of Caradhras shining in his eyes?

"You can stop trying so hard, Sam." Tarisilya knelt down in front of him and took his hand. "My friends call me Ilya. I would be proud to be friends with a legendary Hobbit like you. What do you say?"

"Of course … I mean, I would like that." Sam desperately prayed for a hole to swallow him. He still wasn't used to people calling him a hero. He didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a little boy wasting a noble Lady's time.

It wasn't like he wouldn't have wanted to have this conversation much earlier, but if one didn't happen to be the King, his future wife, a patient, or a healer, it had been difficult to lay eyes on Tarisilya lately. His curiosity hadn't been _so_ big that he'd wanted to break a leg on purpose, just to find out what Legolas' wife was like. "I think I better go …"

"Why don't you come and sit with me, Sam?" She waved him along as if she knew exactly about his thoughts and sat down on that same spot again that provided a good view of the woods of North Ithilien.

"Do you think the others might still come?" Sam asked hopefully.

Aragorn had sent a message to North Ithilien but since the elves there didn't have a fixed domicile yet, no one could be sure if it even had been received. Or if it had been received in time.

"I doubt it." Noticing Sam's confusion about her cynical tone, Tarisilya quickly softened it. "I'm sure they would have loved to say good-bye to you, but there's just so much to do right now. Don't worry, Sam. We will come to visit you. And you're very welcome to visit _us_ anytime, once the settlement is finished."

"Don't you miss Legolas?" Sam had been there when Tarisilya had almost died. He'd seen how important she was to Legolas. He couldn't imagine them having a fight. But it was a little strange that they spent so little time together.

"I'm sorry. It's none of my business," he quickly added when Tarisilya's expression became dismissive.

"Why are you here, Sam?"

Awkwardly, he tugged on his collar. It felt inappropriate, talking to an elf about something that even a lot of men didn't understand. But now that he actually had the chance … He definitely wouldn't ask Erestor about this, Legolas had last been in the city after Aragorn's coronation and – right: He didn't know anyone else he could ask. Oh well. If she got angry, he could handle that.

"Why are you leaving?" He sounded more accusing than planned. "The elves, I mean. Why are they leaving us alone? Because of the bad things that some people on the streets are saying? You can't listen to those! Some are saying things like that about Hobbits too. Just don't listen to them."

Tarisilya put a stop to him with a quiet laugh, but even while she did, her eyes darkened further. "We started leaving Middle-earth long before a few men tried to revive old hatred. That's not it. And not all of us will vanish at once. There'll still be many elves who'll have the pleasure of making your acquaintance in your lifetime, Sam. But I think, one by one, even the last of us, one way or another, will join those who are waiting for us in the west and whom we don't want to do without any longer. Those who realized long before we did that this is not a world that elves can live in anymore. And not only because they say that our oldest souls will not have a body to live in left someday if they stay here forever. That danger has grown bigger since the magical rings that Celebrimbor once made are gone."

"But everything's fine now," Sam said in protest. More upset by the second, his hands fidgeted with the buttons of his vest. "Sauron is dead! Now everything will be as it was. Couldn't the others come back, at least for a while? There's peace here now, everything is alright ..."

"Is it?" Tarisilya asked gently. "Some men will always find a reason for fighting and blood, Sam, though it's being justified to hope for all of us that such a horrible war will never happen again. But the conflicts will never stop and we've been trying to solve them for too long. We have enough of our own that we can't be proud of either. And those shall not cause any more trouble here. Even if the elves in Valinor were allowed to live in Middle-earth again, for as long as our bodies and souls can handle the faster passage of time here … And you have to realize, that stopped being possible a very long time ago ... The elves grew tired of this world. They don't want to watch the suffering anymore. Can you remember Haldir?"

"Quite well, actually." The memory of how the Fellowship had been taken prisoner in Lórien by the marchwardens had Sam shiver.

Tarisilya chuckled again. "He's actually really nice, at least when he had proper breakfast. Haldir was always something like a pillar between us waiting in the woods and the warriors. He fulfilled his duty with all he had. There was nothing more important to him than securing the borders. Not even the feelings that have been existing between my brother and him for centuries, though both of them are far too stubborn to ever admit that, even to themselves. The war almost cost Haldir his life; that's how much he fought for this world that he loves with all of his heart, just like me. But now he doesn't have to worry about anything anymore, and that's exactly how it should be. I'm looking forward to finally hear him laugh again one day, probably about stealing strawberries from my plate. That last happened 300 years ago." When Sam's eyes went wide with understanding, she nodded with a jerk.

"I just wish I could go west with him soon, to my father, my brother …" She paused to take a deep breath.

"Every good-bye hurts, especially us Firstborn who deal with pain a lot longer than other beings. That's the reason why many of us are still here. Because you can't just leave everything behind so easily. Legolas and I will be drawn across the ocean as well, but as long as our friends here need our help, they will get it."

"And if one day it will be your friends' children and grandchildren who seek your assistance? Will you start a war with the Valar then and sail back, just to try and satisfy everyone once again?"

Sam startled hard while Tarisilya just rolled her eyes at the sound of Erestor's voice. Apparently, she'd long heard him coming and had just been too polite to end the conversation.

Now she got up though. "I'm sure the others are already waiting for you, Sam. Come on. The company in the celebration hall is more pleasant."

"Do you think, running from it makes it go away?" Taking an unusually relaxed position, Erestor leaned against a pinnacle and crossed his arms. "The war is over and you still let yourself be pushed around."

"It's not my fault, certain people don't understand the meaning of the words 'Get out of my sight'," she replied coolly. "Or I would long be rid of _one_ problem."

"And even more alone," was the dry answer. "Initially, I was under the impression that this whole settlement charade would be good for you. Instead, you’re sitting around here now, just as lonely as in the war. Alone among hostile men – your brother would be terrified."

"Why don't you rather worry about your job instead of elves who are _none_ of your business?" Feigning boredom, Tarisilya looked up at the cloudy sky.

"Well, _somebody_ has to, since you stopped fighting wrongs being done to you at some point. Isn't it ironic that Vandrin and Tegiend were able to give it all up … And you who were always called the most stubborn part of your family, let yourself be put in chains?"

Erestor's slightly lowered his voice since more and more of the warriors nearby started to look their way with interest, one of them even moving a little closer to them. His eyes expressed real concern; his face was marked by fine wrinkles that Sam had only rarely happened to see on a Firstborn.

Tarisilya didn't seem to notice. "Tell me, when exactly did I ask you for one of your famous, profound analyses of a situation? Lord Elrond left you here to help the King, not me. Are you looking for new achievements now because you're out of your debt?"

"There's no need to attack me when it's really you who feels miserable, Ilya." Erestor tiredly rubbed his forehead. "Aren't you ever getting sick of this childish nonsense?"

"If you need to know: no. _What_ are you doing here?"

"Be alone, just like you. Until I heard that unbearable sugarcoated version of your fate that you're trying to sell an eager audience." Erestor shortly nodded at Sam, with a short smile for a change, as pity-tinted as it was.

"Have you no opinions of your own left at all anymore? Why are you troubling yourself with a duty that you're not comfortable with? With a village of the lost who, frankly, would probably rather need help to follow the call of the Valar instead of encouragement to keep on avoiding the decision? Do you think planting a few trees and giving a piece of dirt a fancy name will revive the time of the elves on Middle-earth? Everything you do for him right now is only prolonging the time that you'll be stuck here parted from your family. Heavens, Ilya, and here I thought it was His Highness of Mirkwood who went blind back then, not you."

Not only Sam but the guards as well looked up, partly startled, partly visibly amused, at the sudden sound of a slap. That was something one would maybe expect from a brattish court lady or from a farmer woman on the street. Definitely not from a noble elf who looked angrier about losing control like that than anyone else, and immediately stepped back, covering her eyes with her hand. But there was no apology.

Erestor rubbed his reddened cheek, one eyebrow raised. "Good to see you have that much energy left at least. Can we start talking to each other like normal people again, now that we got that out of the way?"

" _Just leave me alone_!" Tarisilya shoved past Sam who couldn't even have left if he'd wanted to, much too shocked by the argument. Not shocked enough to not see that Tarisilya was crying though.

He wished he could tell her something, help her somehow, but he felt even clearer than at the beginning of the conversation that this wasn't his world. He was relieved when Erestor pushed past him without a farewell too.

Unintentionally, the two elves had achieved something that not even the constant homesickness had: Sam finally wanted to get back to the Shire and forget, he had ever left it.


End file.
